


there are moments here, only yours and mine

by mnabokov



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Academia, Dad sehun, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: Sehun had expected sleepless nights when he came to Okinawa. Firstly, because he would be raising a baby, and secondly, because he would be a graduate student. He hadn’t anticipated the third reason: Kim Jongin.Alternatively entitled: Scenes From a Love Story.





	1. Scenes From a Bus Station

**Author's Note:**

> Where a bookshelf goes or a throw rug  
> How you shape any common space
> 
> And the language you make out of looks and names  
> All the motions of ordinary love
> 
> All the weight it can hold when you say one name  
> All the motions of ordinary love
> 
> There are moments here, only yours and mine  
> Tiny dots on an endless timeline
> 
> \- La Dispute, “Woman (In Mirror)”

Monday.  
  
The baby’s crying again.  
  
“Shush,” Sehun murmurs, bouncing the baby in his lap gently. “Shush, shush.”  
  
The baby won’t stop crying.  
  
Rain begins to splatter down around the overhang of the bus stop. Cars trudge by, windshield wipers swiping aggressively.  
  
There’s only one other man waiting at the bus stop. He’s wearing a black coat, which seems too warm for this muggy weather. It’s the same man from yesterday, and the day before that. Most likely, the day before that, as well.  
  
“Where is her pacifier?”  
  
Sehun looks up, startled. He replies in halting Japanese: “I’m sorry?”  
  
“The pacifier. For the baby.”  
  
Sehun splutters. “I didn’t bring it with me,” he answers. “I normally don’t.”  
  
The stranger looks up and looks at Sehun for a few seconds. Bus 30, its green and orange paint faded, comes shuttling up, coming to a stop in front of the station. “Try it,” the man says. He offers Sehun a faint smile before turning his coat up and heading into the rain.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When one thinks of Okinawa, the first thing that comes to mind is the weather.  
  
The subtropical climate is similar to that of Vietnam, or Hawaii. At first, it is almost intolerably humid. It’s the kind of humidity where the stickiness of the air pervades every pore of one’s body, where sweat becomes as constant and as inevitable as the seconds ticking by. The humidity is a blanket, a thick, invisible smoke to which the Okinawans have seemingly become immune. Sehun never sees them sweat.  
  
There are many vagaries in the weather; one moment it may be sunny, and the next, rainy. Typhoons plague the islands in the summer. The tropical climate lends itself to a spectrum of bugs, insects, and reptiles; to Sehun, the most ubiquitous is the cicada: incessant in its chirping, from sunup to sundown. Mosquitoes, also, are rather rude.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
The bus stop, again. Cars trudging by. Rain. The baby, asleep.  
  
“She’s calmer today,” the man with the black coat says. Sehun sits on the other end of the bench from him. Both of them look forward. Not at each other.  
  
“She is,” Sehun agrees slowly. He looks down at the baby’s face, her tiny mushroom nose.  
  
The stranger chuckles.  
  
Bus 30 pulls up. The stranger collects his things, and bows customarily. “Have a good day,” he says, before turning the collar of his coat up and taking five steps forward into the rain, the five steps needed to get onto the bus.  
  
Sehun’s too busy watching him go to reply.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The constant rain here leads to a lush and green landscape. Tangled vines, tropical flowers, and thick trees paint even the city streets.  
  
The part of Okinawa that Sehun has moved to -- the suburbs, about forty-five minutes from the Naha airport -- is sleepy and intimate. Unlike the bustling streets of Seoul and wide expressways, the inside roads here are barely large enough for a single car to advance at a time. They wind through neighborhoods and past lush gardens. All of the cars here are small.  
  
Sehun is staying in a rather nice apartment by a local park. Were he staying in a crowded area, like Tokyo or Yokohama, Sehun’s sure that he wouldn’t have the luxury of living alone -- at least, not on his limited budget, anyway. The apartment is a five minutes’ walk to the closest bus stop. Sehun walks there every morning.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
“She’s very cute.”  
  
“Thank you very much,” Sehun says politely.  
  
The stranger asks, “How old is she?”  
  
“She’s almost eight months.” Sehun offers the baby her pacifier. With a delighted gurgle, the baby takes it.  
  
Bus 30. “Have a good day,” the stranger in the black coat bows. This time, Sehun’s prepared: he returns the gesture, as best he can with a baby in his arms.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
The baby is crying again. Wailing. Passersby glance curiously at her.  
  
“Shush,” Sehun says, to no avail. The pacifier doesn’t help. The weather is sticky and muggy. Sehun feels like his skin is crawling. “Please,” he murmurs to the baby, reverting back to Korean, “Please, be quiet.”  
  
“May I see?” the stranger asks, except this time, in perfect Korean.  
  
Sehun freezes in surprise.  
  
“I’m sorry,” the man says, “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just overhead you -- ”  
  
Sehun shakes his head in relief. “No, please,” he hands the baby over. “It’s a relief to not have to fumble over words for once.”  
  
The baby instantly quiets in the stranger’s arms. Sehun tries not to feel hurt.  
  
The stranger chuckles and brushes his finger against the baby’s cheek. “It’s nice too, for me to speak in my native tongue. It’s been a while.”  
  
Sehun wants to continue this conversation -- the first substantial conversation he’s had in days -- but Bus 30 pulls up with a creak and a groan.  
  
“Have a good day,” the stranger says, in Korean. He smiles. He hands the baby over.  
  
“You too.” Sehun smiles back.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.  
  
“How long have you been living in Japan?” Sehun asks, as soon as he arrives at the bus station. The stranger -- perhaps not so much of a stranger now -- is already situated at his usual end of the bench.  
  
“A long time.”  
  
“That’s why your Japanese is so good,” Sehun says, taking a seat.  
  
The man smiles mildly. “I’m assuming you haven’t been here long.”  
  
Sehun winces. “Is my Japanese that bad?”  
  
“It could be worse,” he offers.  
  
Sehun lets out a laugh at that. “At least you’re truthful. No one here has said anything about my accent yet.”  
  
The baby lets out a soft gurgle.  
  
“I never got to thank you for yesterday,” Sehun says. “For calming her, I mean.”  
  
“Oh,” the man waves his hand dismissively. “It’s no problem. Sometimes, children don’t listen to their parents, right?”  
  
“It’s alright,” Sehun tries to reassure him, but Bus 30 pulls up.  
  
“Have a good day!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Time passes quickly. When Sehun calls home, he accidentally responds in Japanese a few times, instead of Korean. He mixes up vocabulary words in his head. He supposes that this is a good thing.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday, again.  
  
The baby’s nestled into Sehun’s side, sucking eagerly on a bottle of milk. Sehun’s own breakfast -- two _onigiri_ from the convenience store down the road -- sits in a bag by his side.  
  
“Good morning,” the stranger greets.  
  
“Good morning,” Sehun says.  
  
When he sees the other man looking, Sehun introduces, “This is Yerin.” He holds up the baby.  
  
The man leans in with a genuine smile. “Nice to meet you, Yerin. My name is Jongin.”  
  
Yerin giggles.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
Yerin’s crying, blubbering milk onto her bib. “I’m sorry,” Sehun says, trying to keep his exhaustion from bleeding into his voice. “Can you -- ”  
  
“Of course.” Jongin takes Yerin and she gurgles. A chubby fist reaches up to grab a handful of Jongin’s loose hair.  
  
“I’m Sehun,” Sehun says. “By the way.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Jongin replies. He looks good with Yerin.  
  
“You’re really good with kids.”  
  
“You aren’t too bad yourself.”  
  
Sehun scoffs. He has dried milk over his pants and three soiled diapers in his bag right next to his lunch of black bean noodles. “Please, I know I’m horrible.”  
  
Jongin peers into Yerin’s eyes. “You must be very busy.”  
  
Sehun nods.  
  
“Are you working?” Jongin asks curiously.  
  
“No. No, I’m a student.”  
  
Jongin’s eyebrows go up. The doors to Bus 30 swing open.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sehun likes routine. He likes normality.  
  
Moving to Okinawa, Japan has changed his schedule greatly. Taking care of a baby has changed his schedule greatly. Sehun generally doesn’t like change.  
  
Here is a general outline of a morning in the life of Oh Sehun:  
  
He wakes early to feed Yerin. Most likely she’s crying. Most likely, Sehun’s tired from waking up twice in the night to feed her.  
  
He puts on the TV for her to watch while he prepares his own lunch and things. He turns off the TV with a vague sense of guilt, promising himself to cut down on Yerin’s screen time. He walks to the bus stop. He talks to Jongin.  
  
There is one thing in his morning routine that Sehun looks forward to.  
  
It certainly isn’t feeding a crying Yerin.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
“So what do you study?”  
  
“Biology,” Sehun replies. “Marine biology.”  
  
They have an allotted time frame in the morning: from the second that Sehun arrives at the bus stop to the moment Bus 30 comes shuttling up. It’s a bit difficult to hold a conversation in such a short time, so they end up having a ping-pong sort of talk. They’re familiar with each other now  
\-- enough that they drop greetings in favor of speaking about more substantial things instead.  
  
“That’s interesting,” Jongin says.  
  
“Is it really?” Sehun shoots him a wry glance.  
  
Jongin shrugs. “I think so.”  
  
Sehun hums. “That’s why I’m here. Studying.”  
  
“So you’ve been in Okinawa for how long?”  
  
“Three weeks.”  
  
Jongin looks like he wants to continue, but the bus driver waits.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Okinawa is beginning to grow on Sehun.  
  
It’s rural living -- at least to Sehun, anyway, who’s been living in crowded cities for as long as he can remember -- at its finest. It’s ethereal, and a little homey.  
  
The humidity becomes familiar, less of a nuisance and more of a fact of life. The constant hum of cicadas blends into the symphony of the countryside. The walk every morning to the bus stop becomes familiar. Sehun looks forward to seeing Jongin smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
“Do you take care of Yerin the whole day?”  
  
“I drop her off at daycare,” Sehun explains. “Then I pick her up on the way back from class.”  
  
“Must be busy,” Jongin says sympathetically. He’s abandoned his usual black coat in deference to the warmer weather; today he wears only a white dress shirt. Sehun belatedly realizes that he’s rather good-looking.  
  
“It is,” Sehun agrees. “But I think it’s worth it.”  
  
To emphasize his point, Yerin babbles nonsensically and throws her rice cracker crumbs at Jongin.  
  
Jongin smiles. “It must be worth it,” he echoes.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday. Yerin tucked against Sehun’s chest.  
  
“Have you started school yet?”  
  
“Not yet. I’ve just been going in for orientation.” Yerin’s breath flutters against Sehun’s collar. “I start on Monday.”  
  
“Ah, me as well.”  
  
“You start work?”  
  
“I teach, actually. I’m in academia.”  
  
“Oh,” Sehun says, sitting up a little straighter. “What -- ”  
  
Tires scratch against asphalt. Bus 30, whose arrival Sehun has begun to dread, pulls up.  
  
Jongin waves cheerily. “Bye Yerin! Have a nice day!”  
  
Sehun smiles and watches him go.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday. The baby dozing gently.  
  
“Is she sleeping?” Jongin murmurs.  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun croaks. “She couldn’t sleep last night.”  
  
A sympathetic smile. “That means you couldn’t sleep well either.”  
  
“It’s fine.” It’s not really fine, but Jongin’s been so sweet and understanding, Sehun feels bad complaining.  
  
“You know,” Jongin begins thoughtfully. “This is a little strange, so I wouldn’t be insulted at all if you said no, but I live rather close by, so if you need -- ” Jongin looks up to see the bus approaching. “Ah, I’ll ask you another day.”  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sehun calls out, as Jongin moves toward the bus.  
  
Jongin waves. “It’s your first day, isn’t it? Good luck!”


	2. Scenes From an Institute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OIST stands for the Okinawa Institute of Science and Technology.

Monday. The same Monday.   
  
Sehun’s just dropped off Yerin as usual -- the woman manning the front of the local daycare has now come to recognize Sehun, and smiles cheerily everytime Yerin comes in -- and taken the bus to OIST.    
  
Sehun walks across campus to the main building, bowing good morning to the security guard at the front desk before making his way down the long main hall. He reaches the elevator and presses for the third floor. There, he crosses the yard and scans his nametag to get into the lab.   
  
Cold, blessed, air-conditioned air comes rushing out to meet Sehun. His undershirt already feels damp and sticky with sweat, despite it still being early in the morning.    
  
Mina, a petite woman with short brown hair, is waiting for Sehun at the door, in front of another long hallway. “Mr. Oh,” she says in Japanese and bows slightly.    
  
“Ah, good morning,” Sehun does the same.    
  
“You’re just on time. Please come in, and I will introduce you to Professor Kim Kai.”   
  
Mina’s heels click on the floor as she enters the code into another keyboard securing another door. “Thank you for going through our orientation. We just wanted you to get used to the school and our methods before diving straight into the work.”   
  
“It was no problem,” Sehun replies automatically. “I learned a lot.”   
  
“I’m glad. Professor Kim is very excited to work with you. You’ll be our second new graduate student this year.”   
  
She opens the door to reveal Jongin.   
  
“Oh,” Sehun says.   
  
Jongin looks up from his paperwork. “Sehun?”   
  
Mina looks between them. “Do you two know each other?”   
  
Jongin says something to Mina too quickly for Sehun to understand. Mina’s expression clears. “Well, that’s fantastic!” she says. “I’ll leave you two to it.” She bows and leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her.   
  
“You’re a graduate student?” Jongin asks, in Korean.   
  
“You’re Professor Kim?” Sehun asks.    
  
“I am,” Jongin looks confused. “And you’re Oh Sehun.”   
  
“I am.”   
  
“You’re -- you’ll be my graduate student, working on coral reef research?”   
  
“I told you I’d be working in marine biology.” Sehun tilts his head quizzically. “Did you not get my application?”   
  
“I saw your application. I guess I just didn’t realize. When we spoke and you said that you were studying, I just thought you were in college.”   
  
“Oh,” Sehun says. “No. I studied for four years in Korea. And now, I’m here. Working for you.”   
  
“Oh,” Jongin says.   
  
“You thought I was that young?”   
  
Jongin blushes prettily. “Is that a bad thing?”   
  
Sehun huffs and adjusts his grip on his bookbag. “I suppose I should take it as a compliment.”   
  
“It is one,” Jongin says, but he looks at Sehun curiously. “I guess I should introduce you to the rest of the lab.”   
  
“Right,” Sehun echoes.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.   
  
Jongin, who apparently goes by Kai in Japan, puts Sehun straight to work. Tuesday finds Sehun peeling off his nitrile gloves before lunch, after a long morning in the lab. He’d spent hours checking their samples, pipetting lysis solution into every individual plastic Eppendorf tube before putting them into their warm water bath.    
  
Having successfully finished the first tedious step in extracting the DNA samples, Sehun snaps off his gloves and tosses them away, taking off his goggles in relief. When he emerges from the lab, he’s sure that he has the goggle marks still imprinted on his face.    
  
“Hello,” Jongin greets him, when Sehun heads into the breakroom where the rest of the lab is eating their lunch. Jongin’s standing next to the refrigerator, by the microwave, waiting for his food to heat. It’s a little disorienting to see him standing, when Sehun’s only ever seen him sitting for so long.   
  
Sehun greets the rest of their labmates, before joining Jongin. He reaches into the refrigerator to bring out his own tub of fried rice. Behind them, the students murmur in conversation while eating.   
  
“Everything okay?” Jongin asks.   
  
“Fine.”   
  
The microwave beeps and Jongin takes out his noodles. He opens the machine and gestures for Sehun to put his food in.    
  
The microwave hums as it heats up Sehun’s fried rice.   
  
The other students finish their lunch and wave before heading back to work. They’re left alone, in silence.    
  
The microwave beeps.   
  
Jongin reverts back to Korean. “How’s Yerin?”   
  
The ghost of a smile flickers over Sehun’s face. “You just saw her this morning. At the bus stop.”   
  
“Does she like her caretaker?”   
  
“As much as a baby can like a stranger.” Sehun admits, “Though I think she prefers you.”   
  
Jongin chuckles.    
  
  
  
  
  
Sehun had expected sleepless nights when he came to Okinawa. Firstly, because he was living with a not-yet-one-year-old baby, and secondly, because he would be a graduate student. He hadn’t anticipated the third reason: Kim Jongin.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
Taking the sample tubes out of the warm bath. Putting in salt solution. Putting the tubes into the centrifuge -- perfectly balanced, by the way, only even numbers -- to spin them around until all the cell debris floats to the bottom. Pipetting out the DNA liquid. Mixing in isopropyl alcohol. Centrifuging, balanced, again. Removing excess liquid via micropipette.    
  
“I said, knock knock.”   
  
Sehun looks up, wincing at the crick in his neck. “Sorry,” he says to Jongin, who stands in the doorway. Jongin’s long legs are crossed, one over another, and his hands are slipped halfway into his pants’ pockets. He’s still wearing his wire-rimmed glasses. He looks good. “What did you say?”   
  
Jongin looks amused. “It’s lunchtime.” He glances at his watch. “Actually, it’s nearly an hour past lunchtime. You’ve been in here all morning.”   
  
Sehun looks at his own watch to verify the time. “I was concentrated.”   
  
“I could tell.”    
  
After peeling off his nitrile gloves, snapping off his goggles, and hanging up his lab coat, Sehun follows Jongin down the hall to the breakroom.    
  
“Everyone else is finished,” Jongin says over his shoulder, in explanation of the empty breakroom.    
  
“You didn’t have to wait,” Sehun says half-heartedly. In all honesty, however, he likes eating lunch with Jongin. The rest of the students are nice, but speak too quickly in Japanese -- and it’s informal, casual slang, too, rather different from what Sehun studied in school.    
  
Jongin says simply, “I wanted to.”   
  
They sit down and eat together: Jongin has his bento box -- which is also from the local convenience store; Sehun spots the distinct FamilyMart bag -- and Sehun has his homemade kimchi fried rice.   
  
“You made your own lunch?” Jongin asks, glancing at Sehun’s rice.    
  
Sehun pulls out his metal chopsticks with aplomb. “I will never eat kimchi with anything other than metal chopsticks,” Sehun reassures Jongin.    
  
Wistfully, Jongin says, “I miss having Korean food every day.”   
  
Sehun opens his mouth to invite Jongin over for army stew when someone opens the door.   
  
“Professor Kim?” one of the students opens the door. “Ah, excuse my interruption -- ”   
  
Jongin waves her in. “Please, come in.”   
  
“I was just wondering if you could look at…” Sehun can’t catch the rest of what she’s saying; she speaks too quickly, and the vocabulary goes over Sehun’s head.    
  
“I have to go,” Jongin says to Sehun apologetically.   
  
“It’s fine,” Sehun says, “Go ahead.”   
  
Jongin flashes a quick smile before following the other student out of the room.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
“How long have you been living in Japan, exactly?”   
  
“Around five years,” Jongin admits. He picks at his fluffy rolled egg. “And before that, I studied Japanese in Korea, as well.”   
  
“Has all that time been here?”   
  
“At OIST? Yes, I was here when the school was still relatively new.” Jongin pushes up his glasses. “I’ve been living here ever since.”   
  
“You’ll have to teach me everything about Okinawa,” Sehun says, only half-jokingly.   
  
Jongin promises sincerely, “I will.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday. Tight goggles secured, nitrile gloves tight. In the lab again.   
  
“Do you know Professor Kim from Korea?”   
  
Sehun finishes scrawling out the name of the specimen and pastes the label onto the Eppendorf tube. “I’m sorry?” he looks up through his goggles at Yui, another graduate student.   
  
She smiles politely. “Professor Kim. You knew him when you lived in Korea?”   
  
“Oh. Oh, no. I met him here.”   
  
She makes a noise of understanding and hands him another tube to label.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Another week. Another Monday. The routine has begun to become familiar.    
  
“Why did you ask?”   
  
Yui and Sehun are cleaning out dirty Eppendorf tubes. It’s an easy task -- leaves room for conversation.   
  
“Why did I ask what?”   
  
Sehun clarified, “About Professor Kim. Last week. If I knew him.”   
  
“Oh!” she says. “Well, he doesn’t talk much about his life before. He doesn’t talk about Korea much at all. So we were wondering if you knew him from then.”   
  
“No,” Sehun says. He pushes up his sleeves. “I met him here as well.”   
  
They clean a dozen or so more tubes before Yui speaks again. “He’s a good man,” she says.   
  
Sehun hums in agreement.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.    
  
Sehun’s pulled up a protein database off of  [ STRING-db ](https://string-db.org/cgi/network.pl?taskId=UER6PkcIXND6) on his laptop after lunch when there’s a knock on his door.   
  
“Come in,” Sehun says. Upon seeing Jongin, Sehun reverts back to Korean, as they usually do when they’re alone. “Oh. It’s you.”   
  
“Me,” Jongin agrees. “We’re closing the lab early today. Maintenance. Systems go down in,” Jongin checks his watch, “Half an hour.” Apologetically, he adds, “Sorry for the late notice.”   
  
“It’s fine,” Sehun says. He starts pulling his papers together.   
  
“Are you alright with getting back?”   
  
“Ah.” Sehun scratches his head. “I have an app.”   
  
Jongin waits for Sehun. Sehun gathers his things and slings his bag over his shoulder. He pulls out his phone as they leave the lab, walking across the grassy lawn towards the elevators in the central building.    
  
“Bus Navi?” Jongin guesses, just as Sehun pulls up the app on his phone.   
  
“Exactly,” Sehun says. The elevator doors open and Sehun steps in just as the application loads, and bombards his screen with unreadable kanji. Sehun winces.   
  
“I can help you,” Jongin offers. “I'll tell you which stop you need to get off at.”   
  
“Thank you,” Sehun says gratefully. “I’m still not the best with kanji. Or street names.”   
  
“I completely understand.” Jongin holds open the elevator for Sehun to step out into the central lobby. “Can you read the names of the stops when they come up on the bus at least?”   
  
“Usually,” Sehun lies.   
  
Jongin seems unconvinced. “I can come with you,” he says. “Since we’re headed in the same direction.”   
  
“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Sehun begins, although he does not want to navigate the different time-tables of the afternoon bus system. He had just gotten used to his evening route home.    
  
“It wouldn’t be a bother. I have plenty of time today.”   
  
“We’d have to swing by and pick up Yerin first -- ”   
  
“All the more reason for me to go,” Jongin says smiling.   
  
Sehun protests half-heartedly, “You see her every morning.”   
  
“When she’s half-asleep and full from breakfast. Come on. Let’s go.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
Lunch in the breakroom. Sehun and Jongin.   
  
“I didn’t realize how close you lived to me,” Jongin says.   
  
Wryly, Sehun answers, “We meet at the same bus stop every morning. If I didn’t drop off Yerin at daycare, then we would ride the same bus to work everyday.”   
  
Jongin sips at his coffee. “True,” he admits. “I’m glad that your daycare isn’t too far from home, at least. You don’t have to go out of your way to drop her off every morning.”   
  
Sehun rubs his eyes blearily. “I suppose.”   
  
Jongin looks sympathetic. “I was going to offer, you know. Before.”   
  
“Offer?”   
  
“To babysit Yerin for you. When we met, that first week. At the bus stop.” A faint smile lifts Jongin’s upper lip.    
  
“It’s not a babysitter I need,” Sehun says reluctantly. “It’s more of the bills that are a problem, at the moment. I’m already living in the cheapest apartment I could find, but paying for the daycare every day -- and the diapers and the baby formula. And the toys.” Sehun rubs his eyes again. “Oh God, the toys.”   
  
“There must be many of them,” Jongin grins.   
  
“Too many. She loves those little plastic dinosaurs.”   
  
“Let me guess -- and she leaves them all over the floor?”   
  
“For me to step on, yes. Once, I nearly broke my neck when I slipped on the hair of one of her dolls.”   
  
Jongin laughs, full and hearty.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
There’s a stuffed animal -- a plush Stegosaurus, soft and green and adorable -- sitting on Sehun’s desk. There’s a note attached, written in neat Korean, that reads:  _ Even if you step on this, it won’t hurt.  _   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.   
  
“Yerin loves it,” Sehun says, when he comes into the breakroom for lunch.   
  
The rest of the students tend to eat in the allotted time meant for lunch. Sehun often gets focused in his work, and emerges half an hour, or an hour late. The only one who also eats as late is Jongin.    
  
Jongin looks up with a crooked smile. “I hope her father likes it as well.”   
  
“Her father loves it,” Sehun assures Jongin, referring to himself in the third person. “He’s very happy that it’s soft.”   
  
“I’m glad.” Jongin looks so pleased that Sehun has to look away.   
  
Today’s lunch is another store-bought bento for Jongin, and a plastic container of Korean mandu dumplings for Sehun.   
  
“Did you make those too?” Jongin eyes the dumplings.   
  
“No,” Sehun says, embarrassed. “These are the frozen ones.”   
  
Jongin shrugs. “Better than no dumplings.”   
  
“This is true,” Sehun agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so nerdy, but the database that Sehun uses to look at sea anemone actually works! Take a look at the link in the text, or found [here](https://string-db.org/cgi/network.pl?taskId=UER6PkcIXND6). It'll pop up with this cool interactive thing where you can drag around a protein found in starlet sea anemone. :)


	3. Scenes From a Bus Station

Monday.    
  
Muggy Monday. Rainy. Gloomy. But still humid.   
  
Sehun ducks under the overhang and holds out Yerin for Jongin to take. Once the baby’s been transferred, Sehun shakes out his umbrella, the droplets spraying onto the pavement. He leans his wet umbrella against the bench and takes a seat next to Jongin. Where once they sat on opposite ends of the bench, there is now hardly space between them. Sehun’s hip brushes Jongin’s arm as he sits.    
  
“Running late?”   
  
“Yeah,” Sehun winces, pulling out a bottle for Yerin to drink from. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw her at you -- ”   
  
“Please,” Jongin looks down at Yerin, who babbles happily upon seeing him. “I’d be glad to take her at any time.”   
  
“Don’t steal my baby,” Sehun says half-heartedly. He covers a tired yawn with two hands.   
  
The morning had started on the wrong foot -- Yerin had refused to put on her shoes, and after coaxing her to put on her sandals, she had cried on the walk to the bus station and in the FamilyMart, where Sehun tried to juggling a wailing baby, paying the cashier in Japanese yen, counting out his change and accepting the melon pan he’d bought, all with only two hands -- but seeing Jongin smile at Yerin, and seeing Yerin smile back, seems to offset even the sticky weather.    
  
“Beware,” Jongin says jokingly. “I’ll come for her.”   
  
It’s probably meant to sound ominous, but coming from Jongin, it just makes Sehun feel warm.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.    
  
“Are you part Japanese?” Sehun asks.   
  
Jongin pauses from where he’s bouncing Yerin on his lap. “You’re asking me this now?”   
  
Sehun blushes. “To be fair, I only have known you for two months.”   
  
Jongin sticks his tongue out at Yerin. Yerin giggles. She babbles, “Bah, buah, bah.”   
  
To Sehun, Jongin says, “No. I was born and raised in Korea. Until five years ago, anyway.”   
  
Sehun hums.    
  
Two school-girls outfitted in their sailor uniforms duck under the overhang to avoid the rain. Jongin scoots over to give them more room to sit, and brushes his thigh against Sehun’s in the process.   
  
They glance at Yerin and smile.   
  
Sehun watches as Jongin holds up Yerin. In Japanese, Jongin tells Yerin, “Say hello to the girls. Say hello, Yerin.”   
  
“Hello, hello,” the girls wave at the baby.    
  
Yerin blabs, “Bah, bah.”   
  
“She’s so cute,” one of the girls says, smiling at Jongin.   
  
“Isn’t she?” Jongin grins as Yerin grabs the rim of his glasses in a chubby fist.   
  
Bus 30 comes rattling up and Jongin presses a kiss to Yerin’s cheek. “Bye, sweetheart,” he says to her in Korean, and Sehun feels his chest tighten.   
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
A quiet day. No school-girls. No Jongin.   
  
Sehun and Yerin sit and wait for their bus in silence.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.   
  
“Sorry,” Jongin says apologetically, as soon as Sehun comes up to the bus stop. “I’m sure Mina or Yui told you, but I had business to take care of in the city yesterday.”   
  
“In Naha?”   
  
“Yes. Sorting out some funding issues.”   
  
Sehun grimaces. “That doesn’t sound fun.”   
  
“No, it wasn’t. But at least I had lunch nearby, at Kokusaidori.”   
  
“Ah.”   
  
Jongin raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”   
  
“Not really.” Sehun blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision from where exhaustion was creeping in.   
  
“Kokusaidori is the largest street in Naha. Full of shops and restaurants and things like that.”   
  
“I haven’t been to Naha since I left the airport,” Sehun admits.    
  
Jongin actually pouts. “Well, you have to see it at some point.”   
  
“I’d love to, but the baby…”   
  
“We’ll figure out something,” Jongin reassures Sehun.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.   
  
It’s sunny for the first time in a week. Sehun sees children walking to school, their stiff, leather backpacks strapped on tightly. The girls mostly wear red and pink ones, while the boys like the black and brown ones.    
  
“Good morning,” Jongin says, when he sees Sehun approaching, baby slung on one hip, and bookbag slung on the opposite shoulder.   
  
“Good morning,” Sehun says. “Say good morning, Yerin.”   
  
Yerin yawns.   
  
Jongin laughs.   
  
The fair weather has drawn out a familiar face, as well.   
  
“Oh,” Jongin says, reverting back to Japanese, as one of the students that Sehun’s seen around in their lab approaches. “Good morning.”   
  
“Good morning,” the boy says formally, breaking into a bow before Jongin and Sehun. “Good morning, Professor Kim.”   
  
Jongin nods politely. “This is Yuta, he’s an assistant in the lab. Yuta, this is Sehun, one of my graduate students.”   
  
They go through another round of bowing -- formal ones from Yuta, the incline of the head from Jongin, and a half bow that Sehun manages with Yerin still on his hip -- and polite exchanges. Sehun never feels as though he’s being polite enough in Japan.   
  
By the time Bus 30 comes around and Jongin and Yuta gather their things to go, Sehun’s head is swimming with honorifics and Yerin looks confused as to why Sehun’s been shifting around so much.    
  
Belatedly, Sehun realizes that he’s been treating Jongin as more of a friend, rather than a PI or a supervisor. He realizes that Jongin was probably just being polite this entire time, helping Sehun find his footing in a new country as fellow Koreans. Sehun vows to remember that from now on, and treat Jongin more respectfully -- as deserved.   
  
  
  
  
  
Another Monday.   
  
“How was your weekend?”   
  
“Relaxing. Thank you. How was yours?”   
  
“Good, good.”   
  
Yerin burbles, “Mah. Mmah.”   
  
Sehun offers her her pacifier and she grabs it eagerly.    
  
“Have you made any headway on the coral you were looking at?” Jongin continues conversationally.   
  
“Yes, actually,” Sehun nods, “We’ve finished isolating DNA from the different samples of coral from around Okinawa and neighboring islands -- ”   
  
“And how many samples was that?”   
  
“Around a hundred from the coral farms, and about twice as much from the wild coral.”   
  
“Good,” Jongin muses. He looks absently at Yerin. “You’ll compare their DNA?”   
  
“To see how different their genomes are,” Sehun agrees.    
  
Bus 30, again, rattling on. The doors swing open.   
  
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Jongin smiles, and Sehun makes sure to say goodbye respectfully this time.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday. Yerin, snoozing against Jongin’s chest.    
  
Sehun knows that he really shouldn’t ask his professor to hold his baby, but he only has two hands. Two hands, which he uses now to rummage through his bookbag. He takes out his lunch of Spam and egg  _ onigiri, _ or Spam and egg rice ball -- purchased from FamilyMart -- to put on the bench while he looks for Yerin’s pacifier, which he had unceremoniously dumped into the bookbag on the walk over to the bus station.    
  
“How often do you make your own lunch?”   
  
Sehun shoves aside napkins and a plastic water bottle, fumbling blindly in the bag to try and find the pacifier. He used to be organized, before he had a baby. Really. Sehun answers, “When I have time.”   
  
“And when you buy lunch, you always buy onigiri,” Jongin notices.   
  
“Usually. It reminds me of our Korean rice triangles. If I don’t get onigiri, I usually get melon bread.”   
  
Jongin hums. “Try something new tomorrow.”   
  
Sehun pulls out the pacifier with a triumphant grin. His head pounds. He really needs to get more sleep.    
  
Jongin looks at him oddly.   
  
“Sorry, what did you say?”   
  
“I said, try something new.”   
  
Sehun cleans the pacifier on a napkin and asks, “Is that my homework, Professor Kim?”   
  
“It is.” Jongin hands Yerin over. “Due tomorrow.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.   
  
“What did you get today?”   
  
Sehun winces when Yerin tugs his earlobe too hard. “Yakisoba pan,” he answers Jongin, waving his plastic-wrapped bun with yakisoba noodles inside as proof.   
  
“Impressive,” Jongin says, nodding. “I didn’t think you would follow through.”   
  
“I’m a diligent student.”   
  
“I’ve noticed.”   
  
When Bus 30 comes to a loud halt in front of the bus station, Yerin babbles and tries to grab Jongin before he goes.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
“I like discovering new things. I like trying new things. I suppose that is why I moved to Japan,” Jongin says. “What about you? Why did you decide to come to Okinawa?”   
  
“The research,” Sehun says honestly. “I like controlling all aspects of my life. My research is the only place where there are no rules. No precedents.”   
  
They sit in companionable silence until Bus 30 comes.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sehun should have seen this coming. The baby, the apartment, the caretaker. The bills. The bills and the bills and --   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.   
  
“The bills,” Sehun answers tightly, when Jongin takes one look at his face and asks, “What’s wrong?”   
  
Jongin wisely holds out his hands for Yerin, who eagerly reaches for Jongin’s glasses.   
  
“God,” Sehun scrubs at his face. “I don’t know how I forgot to pay. I thought I had enough in my account -- ”   
  
“How much longer do you have?”   
  
“Money-wise? Until tomorrow. That’s when my lease runs out. I’ll have to find a part-time job, or something. I didn’t expect a babysitter would cost so much -- ”   
  
“Have you looked at on-campus options? There are apartments at OIST I’m sure you could stay at. Perhaps you can take out student loans?”   
  
“Even if I wanted to, there is no more room for housing on-campus. Every dormitory is filled.” Sehun swallows roughly and reaches for Yerin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to burden you with my troubles.”   
  
Jongin hands Yerin back and looks at Sehun carefully. Sehun imagines that his face must be pink, eyes watery and red-rimmed. His hair is rumpled and clothes even more so. He must look like an absolute mess.    
  
“There’s no more room in the dormitories?” Jongin looks annoyed.    
  
“None. I checked again last night.” Sehun looks at Yerin. His voice is hoarse and watery when he continues, “But I really shouldn’t be complaining about my problems to you. I don’t -- ”   
  
“You’re my student,” Jongin interrupts. “You’re my responsibility. I can’t believe that they don’t have room on-campus for you. Especially as an international student.”   
  
“Most of the students are international ones,” Sehun points out. “Many others are living off-campus as well.” Discreetly, Sehun reaches up to wipe his eyes. More formally, Sehun continues, “Thank you, but I can just find a job to take in the evening -- ”   
  
“And pay even more for a babysitter while you work?” Jongin, for the first time since Sehun has met him, looks angry. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”   
  
“Lots of students work part-time.”   
  
“Not many of them have children to take care of.”   
  
Sehun looks away. “With all due respect, I can get by on my own.” Sehun looks up. “Your bus is here.”   
  
Jongin looks lost in thought.   
  
“Professor?” Sehun prompts.   
  
Jongin turns to look at Sehun. Bus 30 closes its doors and rattles onward.    
  
Sehun watches the bus go. “You’re going to be late,” he warns.   
  
Dismissively, Jongin says, “I’ll take your bus line today.”   
  
Sehun clears his throat and holds Yerin closer to his chest.    
  
“Stay with me,” Jongin blurts out.   
  
Yerin babbles nonsensically.    
  
“I’m sorry?”   
  
“I said, stay with me. For a few days. I know you’ll get a job, regardless of what I say, so stay with me until you save up for another lease.”   
  
Sehun retorts, “You can’t be serious. Living with a baby like Yerin? You’ll hardly get any sleep. And it’ll disturb your -- your family.”   
  
“I live alone,” Jongin tilts his head. “And I’m a heavy sleeper.”   
  
Sehun says weakly, “I can’t ask you to do this.”   
  
“Sehun. Look at yourself. You’re exhausted from working in the lab all day, and taking care of the baby all night. How can you find a job -- much less another place to live -- like this?”   
  
“I can’t,” Sehun shakes his head. “You’re my PI, isn’t that -- ”   
  
“I’m not offering as your supervisor,” Jongin says sharply. “I’m offering as a friend.”   
  
“Then I refuse, as a friend,” Sehun hisses back, clutching Yerin tightly to his chest. He forces himself to speak calmly. “There are rules for fraternization and I won’t let you to get in trouble because of that. Can you imagine if they found out we were living together?”   
  
“Then I will explain the situation,” Jongin reasons.    
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sehun sees his blue bus approaching.    
  
“Please be reasonable,” Jongin insists. “You can’t continue like this -- ”   
  
“What is this really about?” Sehun says suspiciously. “Would you offer other students a place in your home?”   
  
Jongin takes a step back. “What are you saying?”   
  
Yerin starts shifting in his arms. Sehun forces himself to calm down. “Thank you for the offer, Professor. But I’m afraid I can’t accept -- ”   
  
“I’m doing this for selfish reasons,” Jongin blurts out.   
  
Sehun freezes.   
  
“If you come into the lab exhausted from working day and night, you’ll ruin my work,” Jongin says. “You’ll taint my reputation at the institute. I can’t have that liability.”   
  
Sehun exhales shakily.   
  
This much he can believe. He’s seen Jongin poring over data after hours, perfecting every last sample before leaving. Jongin is a perfectionist.   
  
The blue bus that Sehun rides to Yerin’s daycare comes to a stop in front of the bus station.    
  
Sehun grabs his bookbag and starts to go, but Jongin steps in front of him. “Where will you sleep tomorrow?” Jongin asks harshly. “With what money will you cook?”   
  
“Please excuse me,” Sehun says. He tries to step around Jongin but Jongin refuses to budge.    
  
“Think about Yerin. You won’t be able to spend time with her if you try to do this on your own. Do you really want her to spend her entire day with a babysitter?”   
  
Sehun’s mouth is dry.    
  
“Are you coming?” the bus driver asks in Japanese, leaning forward to ask Sehun and Jongin.   
  
“We’re coming,” Jongin acknowledges, before turning back to Sehun.   
  
“Just for a few days,” Jongin says, in Korean again. “So you can get yourself together.”   
  
Sehun swallows. With reluctance, he acquiesces, “Just for a few days.”


	4. Scenes From a Neighborhood

Sehun likes routine. Sehun likes normality.  
  
It was a change when he had a child. It was a change when he moved to Okinawa. It was -- is -- a change, living with Kim Jongin.  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday. An empty apartment. Four large cardboard boxes, packed neatly in the back of Jongin’s car.  
  
“Why don’t you drive to OIST?” Sehun asks, balancing Yerin with one hand and her bottle of baby formula in the other.  
  
“There isn’t enough parking,” Jongin says. He closes the trunk of his car. “Is that all?”  
  
“That’s everything,” Sehun says. He climbs into the passenger’s seat.  
  
They drive for a few minutes before coming to Jongin’s home.  
  
“You have a house,” is the first thing Sehun says.  
  
“I do,” Jongin agrees. “I’m lucky.”  
  
Jongin’s home is single-storied, with high white walls blocking in the house and effectively forming a rectangle shape on the pavement for a driveway. There’s a park right next door, and a banner across the front of the house across the street that announces piano lessons are being offered. Jongin parks the car. It takes three trips to bring in all of Sehun’s things.  
  
Inside, like everything in Japan, is small. The kitchen and cooking countertop is flush against the back of the couch, which faces the short-legged table that Sehun assumes doubly serves as both the dining table and living room area. A TV on mute blasts white colors into the main room.  
  
There is one toilet -- equip with a high-tech, electronic bidet -- one bathtub conjoined to one shower. There is one bedroom right next to the living and dining area, completely empty, save for the folded futon in the corner; and there is one storage room, full of clothes and other supplies, where Sehun puts his things. All of the doors are made of thick wood, and slide open and shut.  
  
“Yerin usually takes a nap around this time, doesn’t she?” Jongin asks, putting his keys on the counter. Today, he’s wearing a soft-looking t-shirt and ripped jeans. He looks too good-looking to be a doctorate in life sciences.  
  
“Usually.” Sehun sinks into the couch, Yerin mumbling in his arms.  
  
Jongin watches them. His expression softens, almost imperceptibly.  
  
“Take the bedroom,” he says. “She can nap on the futon. I’ll roll it out for you.”  
  
“Professor,” Sehun protests.  
  
Jongin makes a face. “Please, don’t call me professor when we’re alone. Just Jongin is fine.” Jongin heads into the bedroom and rolls out the futon mattress. He brings out a bundle of blankets and a pillow.  
  
“Thank you,” Sehun says. He takes a few minutes to arrange Yerin, who whines only for a few seconds before her eyelids start drooping.  
  
“You should sleep too,” Jongin says. He slides the door half shut. “You must be exhausted.”  
  
Sehun doesn’t argue, just folds himself onto the futon and falls asleep before Jongin even shuts the door completely.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The soft sounds of a news broadcast wake him. Sehun checks his watch. It’s Sunday.  
  
Sehun jolts upright.  
  
He’s in an empty room. The blankets have slipped off the thin futon, onto the hardwood floor. The curtains block out most of the morning sun, although some brightness leaks into onto the spilled sheets.  
  
When Sehun slides open the door, Jongin’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing loose pants and a thin tank top. Sehun’s gaze slides off his shapely arms to see Yerin babbling on the floor as well, crawling between two mounds of dinosaur figurines. A picture of domesticity.  
  
Sehun rubs his eyes.  
  
“Good morning,” Jongin calls out, when he sees Sehun lingering outside of the bedroom. “Sorry, did we wake you?”  
  
NHK plays on the TV in the background. There’s a fishbowl on the kitchen countertop that Sehun didn’t see yesterday. It smells like miso soup. Sunlight dapples Jongin’s hair and kisses Yerin’s soft cheeks, tinting everything in a surreal, dream-like color.  
  
“No,” Sehun says, belatedly. “It’s fine. I -- ” Sehun reaches up and runs a hand through his hair.  
  
Jongin smiles softly. “You slept through the entire night. I was afraid Yerin would wake you when I took her out to feed her.”  
  
“You fed her?”  
  
“I hope you don’t mind. I made some formula, since she was hungry.”  
  
A wrinkled pillow and blanket are splayed across the couch. “You slept on the couch,” Sehun observes.  
  
“Didn’t want to disturb you.”  
  
“I’ll take the couch from now on,” Sehun says quickly, “I didn’t mean to impose -- ”  
  
“You look well-rested. Don’t apologize. And don’t think you’re taking the couch either.”  
  
“But -- ”  
  
“If you take the couch, then Yerin will sleep with me. Which I don’t mind.”  
  
“She’ll wake you,” Sehun protests.  
  
“So then she can sleep with you in the bedroom.” Jongin scoops up Yerin. “We can argue about this later, if you’d like. You slept through dinner last night and breakfast this morning. You must be hungry.”  
  
Sehun’s stomach rumbles and Jongin grins.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.  
  
The baby’s crying again.  
  
Jongin pokes his head into the bedroom. The futon’s still spread out, and Sehun’s changing Yerin’s diaper. “We should leave soon,” Jongin says helpfully.  
  
“You do realize that I survived in Japan for two months without you, you know,” Sehun snaps.  
  
“You’re crabby today,” Jongin replies, as he ducks back out.  
  
“I’m always crabby in the morning,” Sehun feels the need to defend himself. He attaches the new diaper and grabs the old one. He heads into the kitchen with Yerin wailing into his shoulder. His ears ring. “You’ve just never seen me so early.”  
  
Sehun tosses the dirty diaper and grimaces when he feels wetness seeping into his shirt from where Yerin’s rubbing her tears and snot into his shoulder.  
  
“Here,” Jongin says, holding out his hands. He’s already wearing long black coat -- again, much too warm for this weather, but perfect for the too-cold air-conditioned rooms of the lab -- and slacks. “Let me take care of her. You have breakfast, and get dressed.”  
  
Sehun looks down at his ragged shirt and basketball shorts. “Right,” he says.  
  
Miso soup and a bowl of rice topped with furikake seasoning -- Sehun can’t stomach the thought of eating _natto,_ fermented soybeans, quite yet -- serves as a quick, but filling breakfast. Sehun eats in record time, and changes into a more respectable pair of black pants and a cardigan. Jongin puts together a bottle of formula for Yerin and they grab their things before heading out just on time.  
  
The warm humid air rushes out to greet them. Yerin’s still sniffling on Jongin’s shoulder, so Sehun sighs, slipping on his bookbag and taking her back.  
  
“What’s wrong,” he murmurs to her. “Come on, baby, what’s wrong?”  
  
She gurgles and rubs her face against his neck. Sehun sighs.  
  
They walk side by side. A car shuttles by and they pass several vending machines. They reach a bridge of sorts, with metal railings on either side of the road.  
  
Sehun asks, “Are those gardens?”  
  
Jongin cranes his neck to follow Sehun’s gaze.  
  
On either side of the road are large green fields. Banana trees curve into the air. A man and a woman are bent over, pulling out weeds. It seems as though every available patch of dirt has been filled: either with green grass, lush vines, or thick trees. Sehun spies an old pickup truck in the back, and a metal framework resembling a greenhouse. Set against the sky, the fields are impossibly vibrant. In the distance, telephone wires crisscross the horizon.  
  
“All gardens,” Jongin agrees. “Look at this.” Jongin points out a leafy green vine that crawls along the metal railings. He brushes aside a large leaf to reveal a distinctly warty, green, cucumber-like gourd. “Goya,” Jongin explains. “Bitter melon.”  
  
Sehun makes a noise of surprise, and ducks closer to feel the bumpy surface of the melon. “You can eat this?”  
  
“Usually in a stir-fry. _Goya chanpuru_ is what they call it.”  
  
Sehun runs his thumb over the thick rind before stepping away.  
  
They pass several more gardens, though none as large. They weave through the residential area before coming to the main road, where cars whizz pass on either side of a double-laned street.  
  
Jongin looks in the direction of the convenience store. “Should we get lunch?”  
  
The automatic doors of the FamilyMart open to welcome Sehun and Jongin into the air-conditioned convenience store. Jongin wordlessly picks out two onigiri for Sehun, and a carton of apple tea and a bento box for himself.  
  
Emerging from the FamilyMart with a little less change, but a bag of food for the two of them, they head to the bus station.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
“Let me cook for you,” Sehun insists, for the third time.  
  
They’re in Jongin’s home. They’re back early because of the biweekly maintenance check.  
  
“We can just eat out,” Jongin argues.  
  
Sehun closes his eyes, taking a moment’s reprieve from the incessant twitching of his eyes -- most likely from staring through a microscope the whole day. “Let me cook. Something Korean. It’s the least I can do for you.”  
  
“Let me go shopping with you,” Jongin counters, and Sehun resists the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
They drive to the closest San-A supermarket, where Sehun loads their shopping basket with cans of chicken stock, tins of spam, rice cakes, green onion, mushrooms, sausage, and tofu.  
  
“I don’t do much Korean cooking,” Jongin admits as he pats Yerin on the back, while Sehun examines the selection of kimchi.  
  
“I can tell,” Sehun says. “I saw the inside of your refrigerator.”  
  
“I guess it’s because I didn’t really learn to cook until I lived on my own.”  
  
“And you only started living alone here.”  
  
Jongin nods. “Most of my cooking is Japanese.”  
  
“That’s good,” Sehun says, putting a tub of kimchi into the basket. “That means that we’ll balance each other out.”  
  
Jongin carries Yerin as Sehun insists on paying. “I’m living at your house,” Sehun points out.  
  
“I’m your supervisor,” Jongin insists, attempting to pull out his wallet with the baby still in his arms.  
  
“Here, please,” Sehun says in Japanese to the confused-looking cashier as he hands her his card. To Jongin, he continues in Korean, “You can change her diaper at home.”  
  
They make Korean army stew: Jongin mostly plays with Yerin while Sehun puts all of the ingredients into the pot. He throws in a liberal amount of _gochujang,_  Korean chili paste, and rice wine. He seasons with soy sauce and pepper before putting into the instant noodles and rice cake. He closes the lid, sets the timer, and hopes the meal won’t burn completely.  
  
The rice cakes are a bit crunchy and it’s a little too spicy, but Jongin digs in eagerly and Sehun has essentially nonexistent standards for food -- that is to say, he’s a broke grad student, who will eat nearly anything -- so they finish up nearly the entire pot.  
  
“This is good,” Jongin says, sipping at his stew.  
  
Sehun gently pushes away a plastic T-Rex from his bowl of army stew and watches as Yerin continues to play. “Thanks,” Sehun says.  
  
“Reminds me of home,” Jongin says. He finishes the last of his stew and stands up to put his bowl and utensils away. When he comes back, he scoops up Yerin so that Sehun can finish eating. Jongin holds the baby against his chest and Sehun resolutely does not stare.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
There’s a map of Okinawa on the wall of Jongin’s living room.  
  
Sehun looks at it curiously. “I didn’t realize Okinawa is so close to Taiwan.”  
  
The baby answers, “Mmbah, mah, bah.”  
  
Jongin answers, “We’re actually closer to Taiwan than mainland Japan. That’s why Okinawa was part of China for a while.”  
  
“It was part of China?”  
  
“In a way. Long ago, it was its own independent kingdom. The Ryukyu Kingdom, it was called. Okinawa and all of the neighboring islands. Then it was with China for a while, then Japan. After World War II, it belonged to America.”  
  
“And now it’s returned to Japan.”  
  
“It’s a mix of cultures,” Jongin says. “Chinese, Japanese, American, native Okinawan.”  
  
Jongin brushes a strand of hair from his face as he watches Yerin play with the buttons on his shirt. Sehun forces himself to look away.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
Thursday is when Sehun learns that Jongin is meticulously clean, even for a scientist. He wipes down the table after every meal and washes Yerin’s little hands and chubby face with a wet washcloth. After washing the dishes, he dries the crevices between the faucet and the counter and arranges the plates in the dishwasher so neatly, even Sehun gets a little jealous.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday is when Sehun learns that Jongin has a terrible habit of gnawing on the end of his pencil when he’s working. Yerin’s already put to bed, and the two of them are working at the table, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Sehun keeps on getting distracted by the way Jongin’s mouth moves.    
  
“I think I’m going to bed,” Sehun announces a little too loudly. His work isn’t done, but he can’t concentrate anymore.  
  
“Oh,” Jongin looks up distractedly. “Okay.”  
  
“Good night.”  
  
“Good night.”  
  
Jongin’s tapping the end of his eraser against his perfectly pillowy lips when Sehun slides the door shut.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.  
  
“What do you normally do on the weekends?”  
  
“In Okinawa? I take care of Yerin. I sleep. Make lunch.” Sehun inwardly winces at how boring that sounds. “What about you?”  
  
Jongin makes a humming noise. “I like to go for walks.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Would you and Yerin like to join me?”  
  
On Saturday, Sehun learns that Jongin likes to walk around the neighborhood. “People do a lot of walking in Japan,” he explains. They pass the local park. Children laugh as they play on the swingsets and the monkey bars. Two teenage boys cycle by on their bikes, and Sehun catches a few words of their conversation.  
  
“It’s nice,” Sehun says. “Safe.”  
  
They pass a vending machine. “Wait,” Jongin says, and jogs back.  
  
Sehun shifts his weight from left foot to right foot. He readjusts his grip on the baby, who babbles into his ear.  
  
There’s a clunk as Jongin finishes inserting change into the vending machine. He grabs a bottle and jogs back to where Sehun waits.  
  
“Try some,” Jongin says eagerly. He isn’t wearing glasses today. His eyes are very pretty. _“Sanpin-cha._ Traditional Jasmine tea.”  
  
They continue walking. Jongin hands the bottle of tea over to Sehun and Sehun hands over the baby to Jongin. After switching, Sehun cracks open the bottle. “It’s good,” he says, surprised at how cool the liquid is.  
  
“Good,” Jongin smiles.  
  
They pass a small vegetable store and another park. Sehun barely notices the sound of the cicadas. Yerin coos and points everytime she sees a stranger walk by, which is quite often. By the time they circle back, Yerin’s mumbling sleepily into Sehun’s shoulder.  
  
In the _genkan,_ the entryway of the house, Jongin takes off Yerin’s pink shoes and tucks them away next to his own. Sehun kicks off his shoes and nudges them to the side before stepping into the house.  
  
Leftover curry goes into the microwave for a reheated dinner. Sehun plays with Yerin while Jongin rinses out rice and puts it into the cooker. They eat, one eye on their food and one eye on the baby as she crawls across the carpet, dragging her plush stegosaurus with her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The days march on in a slow and steady progression, one scene unfolding itself after the next.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday.  
  
Sehun has learned much about Jongin. Jongin loves cold apple tea straight from the carton. Jongin loves eating miso soup for breakfast every morning. Jongin works hard, has earned the respect of everyone in his lab, if not the rest of OIST. Jongin turns up the AC too much when he sleeps, so he can wear soft sweaters to bed.  
  
This particular Sunday, Sehun crawls out of bed at an ungodly hour, before the sun even rises. He blinks blearily and fumbles with the blankets before scooping up Yerin. “Shush, shush,” he quiets her. She sniffles but snuggles into his arms.  
  
As quietly as he can, Sehun slides open the door to get a bottle for the baby. He retrieves it silently, but his gaze catches on Jongin before he heads back into the bedroom.  
  
Jongin’s curled up on the couch, his face slack and expression open in sleep. His blanket is piled on the floor near his feet. He’s still wearing his glasses.  
  
Sehun can’t help but make a small noise, in the back of his throat.  
  
Yerin looks at him and says, “Joh. Joh.”  
  
“Jongin,” Sehun corrects her, smoothing back a few stray wisps of baby hair. “That’s Jongin.”  
  
“Joh.”  
  
Sehun sighs. He looks at Yerin. He looks at Jongin.  
  
Sehun reaches forward and plucks off Jongin’s wire glasses. He sets them on the short-legged table and then fishes up the blanket with one hand, draping it loosely over Jongin.  
  
“Come on,” he says to Yerin quietly, “Let’s let the professor sleep.”  
  
When Sehun wakes again, at a more acceptable time, as the sun’s risen above the horizon, at least, NHK is playing again on the television.  
  
Sehun groans and buries his face in the pillow.  
  
Sounds of Jongin and Yerin playing float in through the half-open door.  
  
“Roar,” Jongin says. “Nom, nom, nom.”  
  
“Bah!” Yerin says back. “Bah, bah! Buah!”  
  
“Bah,” Jongin agrees, and Sehun smiles into his pillow.  
  
He allows himself another indulgent minute before rising and padding out of the bedroom.  
  
“Who is that, huh?” Jongin asks to Yerin. “Who is it?”  
  
“Good morning,” Sehun says to Yerin, crouching down to watch her push two dinosaurs together.  
  
“There’s your dad,” Jongin says. “Say good morning.”  
  
Yerin ignores them both. “Nom, nom,” she says.  
  
“Come on,” Sehun taps her shoulder. “Say good morning to daddy.”  
  
Jongin picks her up and turns her to face Sehun. “Say good morning,” Jongin tells her.  
  
Yerin squeals excitedly and claps. “Bah! Dah!”  
  
Sehun quirks his lips and says to Jongin, “Good morning.”  
  
Jongin chuckles. “Good morning.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Oh,” the girl at the front desk of the daycare center greets politely. “It’s good to see you again -- oh!” She catches a glimpse of Jongin behind Sehun and bows again. “Professor Kim!”  
  
“Ah,” Jongin steps up, embarrassed. He ducks his head and bows as well. “Good afternoon.”  
  
“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she says, eyes bright. “But of course -- Mr. Oh mentioned to me that he was working at OIST!”  
  
“We’re here to pick up Yerin,” Jongin prompts kindly.  
  
“Of course,” the receptionist blushes, ducking her head. “Let me go get her.”  
  
“Does everyone in this city know you?” Sehun turns to ask Jongin in Korean.  
  
Jongin shrugs. “I’m the youngest professor at the institute. I guess I get out more than the rest of the faculty.”  
  
Before Sehun can continue, the girl returns with Yerin in her arms.  
  
“Here we are,” she says cheerily.  
  
“Thank you so much,” Sehun says formally, reaching out to take the baby, who smiles crookedly at Sehun and Jongin.  
  
“Joh!” she says.  
  
“Enjoy the rest of your day!” the receptionist chirps. “Goodbye, Mr. Oh! Goodbye, Yerin! Goodbye, Professor Kim!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
Yerin sleeping in the bedroom, on the futon, surrounded by pillows. The bedroom door open. NHK news on the TV, on mute. Salted edamame on the table and two cans of cold beer.  
  
“Did you always want children?” Jongin asks. He rolls an edamame bean between forefinger and thumb.  
  
Sehun looks up from his textbook.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me. I realize that it’s personal. I didn’t mean to intrude.”  
  
“No,” Sehun says, pushing his textbook away. “I’m living with you. You deserve to know, right?”  
  
“I don’t want you to tell me because you think I should know.”  
  
“I want you to know,” Sehun says. He rubs his left temple. “Well. You know what it’s like in Korea.” Sehun’s mouth twitches. “It’s bad enough for single mothers. Worse for single fathers.”  
  
“Is that why you came here?” Jongin frowns.  
  
“I just needed to get away. From -- from my family. I knew I would be -- I wouldn’t be, well, normal. Wherever I went. But. Yerin’s mother didn’t want the baby, and I wanted it. And my parents wanted a marriage, so everyone was pushing their own agenda. I just needed to get away.” Sehun looks away. “So when OIST accepted me, I told everyone I was going.”  
  
“They must have thought you were crazy,” Jongin says.  
  
“They still think I’m crazy,” Sehun says wetly.  
  
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy.”  
  
Sehun looks up. “No?”  
  
“Not really. Not any more than the rest of us.” Jongin offers a tentative smile. “Yui spends all of her time talking about fossilized trilobites and calls them her family. Yuta has reoccurring dreams of sea anemone.”  
  
Sehun chokes out a laugh. He wipes his eyes. “And you?”  
  
“I’m the worst of them all,” Jongin reassures gently. “Certified crazy. I am made of caffeine.”    
  
Sehun sniffles. “Interesting. A new biological species.”  
  
Jongin smiles. “Come on,” he says, standing up and offering a hand. “It’s time for bed.”  
  
Against his rational thinking, Sehun takes it.  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
“What’s this called again?” Sehun and Yerin peer over Jongin’s shoulder with twin expressions of curiosity.  
  
_“Oyakodon,”_ Jongin repeats. “It means parent and child. Literally.”  
  
Jongin pours the chicken and egg mixture -- which has been garnished with onion, sake, soy sauce, and dashi broth -- over two bowls of steaming rice.  
  
“That’s terrible,” Sehun says. His stomach rumbles anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
Sehun parks the car in front of the house and keys open the front door. He toes off his shoes and pads into the living room, greeted by the sound of Jongin reading to Yerin from a children’s book.  
  
“The little rabbit ran through the forest,” Jongin reads. Yerin’s situated on his lap, and both of them are on the floor in front of the table. Jongin looks up. “Welcome back. How was it?”  
  
“Moderately terrifying,” Sehun says, putting down the groceries. “I will never get used to cars driving on the wrong side of the road.”  
  
“It’s not the wrong side,” Jongin chides, “It’s just the other side.”  
  
“Sure,” Sehun says.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.  
  
“We should get surge protectors.”  
  
Sehun looks up from his textbook. “Hm?”  
  
“Surge protectors. Those plastic covers, for the outlets. Just in case Yerin crawls to one.”  
  
“Oh,” Sehun says. Jongin never fails to surprise him.  
  
“I’ll pick them up after work today? You can head back to pick up Yerin and I’ll go to the store to buy them.”  
  
“Okay,” Sehun says. He finishes packing up their lunches and hands Jongin’s bag over. They walk out the door. Jongin carries Yerin. Sehun locks the gate.  
  
The cashier at FamilyMart smiles widely at Yerin and rings up Jongin’s apple tea skillfully. “Thank you!” he calls after them as Sehun and Jongin head to the bus station.  
  
It’s only a short distance from the convenience store to the bus stop, but it begins to rain hard enough that Jongin has to pull out his big, black umbrella.  
  
“Here,” Jongin proffers it. “We can share.”  
  
Their shoulders brush as they walk. Two school-girls and an elderly man are already seated at the bus bench, safe from the rain. Jongin gestures for Sehun to sit. Sehun sits, but feels uncomfortably like a wife.  
  
“I’ll see you soon,” Jongin says to Sehun when Bus 30 pulls up.  
  
“You’ll be home after buying the surge protectors?” Sehun asks suddenly.  
  
“Yes,” Jongin nods. He smiles and touches Yerin’s cheek before squeezing Sehun’s wrist. In the back of Sehun’s mind, he realizes that it’s the first time they’ve touched each other so deliberately.  
  
Jongin turns up the collar of his coat and heads into the rain. Sehun watches him go, the imprint of Jongin’s fingers still lingering on his skin.


	5. Scenes From an Institute

  
Monday. Wet lab. Goggles on, gloves on, lab coat on.  
  
Sehun peers through his microscope.  
  
A knock comes from the doorway. Sehun looks up to see Yuta peering through the glass window in the door. Sehun gestures for him to come in.  
  
“Sorry to interrupt,” Yuta apologizes customarily. “But I was wondering if you were ready for the Professor and I to come in?”  
  
“Come on in.”  
  
Yuta ducks out for a second, then returns with Jongin in tow.  
  
“Professor Kim,” Sehun greets politely.  
  
“Alright,” Jongin says, stepping in. He adjusts the collar of his white lab coat without looking at Sehun. Not unkindly, he says, “Tell me what I’m looking at.”  
  
“We compared two strands of DNA,” Sehun explains, gesturing toward the tray containing a slab of agar gel resting in buffer solution. “With gel electrophoresis. We put a sample of wild coral DNA and farmed coral DNA into each well. One end of the tray has a positive charge, and the other end has a negative charge. When we turn on the machine and run electric currents through the gel, the lighter DNA moves faster across the solution.” Sehun points at the dyed strands of DNA, which migrated across the gel.  
  
“In simple terms,” Jongin says, taking a seat on Sehun’s stool. “You tested the weight of the DNA by running it through currents. What did that tell you?”  
  
Sehun looks back determinedly. “Well, you can see that the two samples next to each other look pretty similar. That means that farmed coral DNA and wild coral DNA have more in common than we thought.”  
  
“Like what you predicted?”  
  
“Opposite of what I predicted, actually.”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“I wasn’t here,” Sehun says. “I didn’t have the data. How could I have predicted something like this?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jongin says lightly. “Perhaps you could’ve read up on previous studies, looked at published papers.”  
  
Yuta clears his throat and Sehun nearly jumps. He had forgotten the assistant was even there.  
  
“Sorry,” Yuta grimaces. “Um, which papers?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday. AC blasting, Yuta’s _Hanamizuki_ soundtrack on repeat. Lunchtime.  
  
“Kimchi fried rice,” Yui says, peering into Sehun’s plastic container holding his lunch. “This looks delicious!”  
  
“It is,” Sehun says. “Would you like to try some?”  
  
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Yui proclaims, holding up her spoon proudly. “You know, my brother loves Korean food.”  
  
Amusedly, Sehun asks, “You have siblings?”  
  
“I do,” Yui nods. She scoops out a bit of kimchi rice.  
  
“Well, I thought you only had trilobites for family,” Sehun teases.  
  
Yui pretends to be hurt. Then she swallows and her eyes go comically wide.  
  
“This is really good!” she announces. Sehun pushes the plastic container across the breakroom table.  
  
“Please,” he gestures. “Have some more.”  
  
Yui goes on, talking about marine fossils when the breakroom door swings open. “Professor,” Yui exclaims, spying bowl of kimchi rice that Jongin brings in. Sehun had spent all of yesterday afternoon perfecting the recipe. “You brought kimchi rice today too?”  
  
“Ah,” Jongin opens the microwave door and puts in his rice. He scratches his head. “What a coincidence, right?”  
  
Sehun gives him an unimpressed look from behind Yui. Jongin grins sheepishly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
“I hope the professor wasn’t too hard on you, on Monday,” Mina chirps when Sehun puts a pile of papers on her desk.  
  
“Professor Kim? No, he was -- he was very thorough.”  
  
“He just has very high standards,” Mina reassures. “But I think he likes you.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
“I have a treat today,” Yui announces. “Since Professor Kim and Sehun are actually here, I’m going to share with the rest of the lab.”  
  
“What do you mean actually here?” Jongin demands, pouting slightly. His chopsticks are hovering somewhere between his mouth and his bento box; his hair is slightly askew from where he’d taken off a pair of goggles; and his glasses are slipping down his nose. Sehun has to hide a smile at the sight of him.  
  
“I mean,” Yui cocks her hip, “That you’re always working, and we never see you at lunch. We never bond as a lab!”  
  
“That’s no way to talk to your supervisor,” Jongin frowns, but his face lights up when Yui brings out a tub of meat.  
  
_“Soki,”_ she announces proudly. “Made by my grandmother. She has leftovers, so I kindly brought it for our brains to share.”  
  
“Our brains thank you,” Yuta murmurs, reaching out and snatching a piece deftly with his chopsticks.  
  
“Soki,” Sehun repeats. The meat looks similar to spare ribs.  
  
“Pork,” Yui explains to him, brandishes a piece between her chopsticks. She delves into the cooking process, but, since Sehun never formally studied cooking vocabulary, he only catches every third word or so.  
  
At his confused expression, Yui turns to Jongin. “I don’t know how to explain it,” she says.  
  
Jongin turns to Sehun. He leans in close. “Pork spare ribs,” Jongin explains in Korean. Their elbows brush. Neither of them pull away. “It’s boiled first, then stewed in sugar and soy sauce and _awamori,_  which is -- sort of an Okinawan sake. The bones become very soft, so all the cartilage is left in and edible. It’s very chewy.”  
  
“Ah.” Sehun turns to Yui and switches back to Japanese. “I understand now,” he says. “It looks delicious.”  
  
“It is! Try a piece. Usually, we eat this with Okinawan soba.”  
  
“Have you tried Okinawan soba, Sehun?” one of the other graduate students chimes in.  
  
“Not yet,” Sehun admits.  
  
“You should try it! It’s really good!”  
  
“I will,” Sehun reassures them. He quips, “If the soki is this delicious, then the soba must be fantastic.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday. Jongin sticks his head into Sehun’s lab ten minutes after lunch. “Are you busy next Tuesday?”  
  
“You know, I do have work to do.”  
  
“You’re avoiding the question.”  
  
“Why do you want to know?”  
  
“Why don’t you want to tell me?”  
  
Sehun happens to look up just as Jongin crosses his arms. The white material of his shirt tightens over his chest. Sehun looks back down at the slide under his microscope.  
  
“Don’t we have an early day next Tuesday? Because of maintenance?”  
  
“We do. Are you free?”  
  
Sehun adjusts the microscope lens. He peers through again. “Why do you want to know?”  
  
“I want to take you out for dinner. You’ve been in Okinawa for almost three months and you haven’t tried Okinawa soba yet.”  
  
Sehun glances over his microscope. He knows that Jongin knows that they both know that there’s nothing on Sehun’s schedule, aside from picking up Yerin from the babysitter. “Let me see how I feel that day,” he finally says.  
  
“Clear your schedule,” Jongin calls over his shoulder as he exits the lab.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.  
  
Public affairs has hung flyers all over campus: in the bathrooms, on the sides of the elevators, on lecture hall doors.  
  
“There’s a public speaker coming next week?” Sehun reads off the flyer during their lunch. It’s late, so only Jongin and Sehun are in the room.  
  
“I’m glad you can read,” Jongin murmurs under his breath, picking out pieces of bell pepper from his rice.  
  
Sehun smacks Jongin lightly on the shoulder. “Are you going?”  
  
“Maybe. It depends on my schedule that day.”  
  
“I think I’ll go,” Sehun says. “I know this speaker. He’s from Seoul as well.”  
  
“That’s nice,” Jongin says. His phone beeps with an email and he chews thoughtfully as he reads.  
  
“You know there are other people in the world doing research besides you,” Sehun feels obligated to point out.  
  
Jongin grins.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.  
  
“Do you like travelling?” Yui asks Sehun out of the blue. They’re pipetting again. Sehun’s fingers are starting to cramp.  
  
He puts down his micropipette. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.” He looks up and smiles. “I travelled here, didn’t I?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
“Can you swim?”  
  
This time, they’re sorting out old samples in the back of their storage. Sehun wrinkles his nose at a moldy Eppendorf tube and throws it away. “Yeah, I can,” he answers. “Can you?”  
  
“Of course. I love swimming!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
“How do you feel about the beach?”  
  
“What’s with all of these questions?” Sehun glances at her through his goggles.  
  
She shrugs.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
“All of these samples are local, correct?” Sehun asks, peering through a plastic tube as he holds it up against the light.  
  
“All local. They’re all from the Ryukyu Islands.”  
  
“And they were collected within the last five months?”  
  
“Correct.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.  
  
“You should check out the sample sites,” Yui says finally. “The closest ones are from Tokashiki Island.”  
  
“Tokashiki?”  
  
“It’s a smaller island. About forty kilometers off the coast of Okinawa. Beautiful beaches, warm water.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Usually, Professor Kim takes one or two students to the island every year. To see how the samples are doing, and to see how extraction goes. And to enjoy the beach, of course.”  
  
“That sounds nice.”  



	6. Scenes From a Neighborhood

  
Monday. Sehun, in the bathroom, hunched over the sink. Brushing his teeth. Jongin in the kitchen, watching Yerin crawl from one end of the room to the other.  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin calls out.   
  
Sehun scrubs the toothbrush bristles against his molars.  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin repeats.  
  
Sehun spits into the sink. “What is it?”  
  
“Have you seen my glasses?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday. Half-day. Maintenance.   
  
“So,” Sehun says. They walk out of OIST, side by side. It’s a beautiful day. “Where are we going?”  
  
“You’ll see,” Jongin says, enigmatically.  
  
They take a different bus line out, twenty minutes north. They walk for another five minutes, to an older part of town.  
  
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Sehun asks. There’s no one around, only abandoned-looking apartments peering down on the narrow streets. Telephone wires cross the sky.   
  
“I know where I’m going,” Jongin reassures him.   
  
“It doesn’t look like it,” Sehun says. Then they turn the road, and a delicious smell wafts by.  
  
They go to a small, mom-and-pop store that’s tucked in between two dilapidated buildings. The restaurant is squat, and its sign out front is faded to the point of illegibility. Upon entering, they’re greeted by four tables, only two of which have chairs to sit on. Sehun and Jongin get placed on the tatami mats: they take off their shoes and slide their legs into the slot under the table.  
  
“There are only two things on the menu,” Jongin explains. “Medium or large.”  
  
They order two L-sizes and wait. Along the walls are faded photos of the shop through the years.   
  
Okinawa soba is hot and delicious: the noodles are thick and organically shaped, the broth rich and clear, and the soki meat chewy and tasty.   
  
“I hope you’ll let me take you out to dinner more often,” Jongin says, as Sehun finishes his noodles eagerly.   
  
“We’ll see,” Sehun says.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
After a long day in the labs, Sehun comes home to finish cleaning through the data he’d inputted into his computer. He’s typing quickly while seated on the floor in front of the muted TV, which is tuned into a variety show where contestants are forced to eat goya.   
  
Jongin had insisted on picking up Yerin, and after a quiet spat in the hallway of their laboratory -- which was interrupted by Mina, who walked by and raised a curious eyebrow at their hushed Korean -- Sehun had caved, and let Jongin take a different bus back.  
  
Alone in the house, Sehun rubs his eyes and sips on his coffee. He isn’t as tired as before -- nowadays, he feels more well-rested, since Jongin sometimes will take over in the morning and help feed Yerin.   
  
Sehun has been meaning to find a job, to make enough to move out and back into his own apartment, but it’s been difficult trying to find a position that would hire a foreigner only partially competent in Japanese.  
  
Before Sehun can think much of it, however, the front door slides open.  
  
“Joh, joh, jah,” is how Yerin greets Sehun, when Jongin walks into the living room with the baby in one arm, and a bag of groceries in the other. He’s also holding a plastic cup in his left hand.  
  
“Say hi to your daddy,” Jongin tells Yerin. “Say hi.”  
  
“Hi baby,” Sehun says, putting his things aside to stand up and take Yerin back. He speaks at her, “Hi. _Hi._ Did you have a good day today?”  
  
“Bah!”  
  
“I had a great day, thanks,” Jongin grins.  
  
“What’s all this?” Sehun eyes Jongin’s purchases.  
  
Jongin holds up the plastic cup. “I got you bubble tea.”  
  
Sehun almost drops Yerin in shock. “You -- ”  
  
“They didn’t have taro flavor, but I got you honey milk tea instead.”  
  
“You do realize that I was joking right?” Sehun says helplessly. The closest bubble tea shop is nearly fifty minutes away. Sehun had looked it up. “I only said that I wanted boba this morning because Yerin threw up and I was being cranky.”  
  
“Sarcasm isn’t part of my vocabulary.”  
  
Sehun takes the proffered bubble tea and sips.   
  
“Are you upset?” Jongin asks, tilting his head.   
  
Before he can think better of it, Sehun lets out a throaty moan -- the honey milk tea is sweet, with the perfect hint of herb from the steeped leaves. Jongin actually blushes.   
  
“Good?” Jongin asks faintly. His cheeks are pink.  
  
“Very.” Sehun smacks Yerin’s cheek with a kiss happily. “The first bubble tea I’ve had in three months.”  
  
“A new record, I’m sure,” Jongin murmurs.  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.   
  
Sehun wakes early to silence. He brings Yerin into the kitchen and feeds her half a bottle of milk before she starts turning away restlessly. He brings out small crackers for her to nibble on as he heats up her breakfast of porridge puree.   
  
As the microwave hums, Sehun glances over to see Jongin curled up on the couch. The professor’s sleeping in late today. His mouth is a slack line and his hands are curled up in the sleeves of his sweater. Selfishly, Sehun lets his gaze linger. Were he more artistically inclined, Sehun would itch for a pencil and notepad. Instead, he just pulls out his phone and snaps a quick photo. For the memories.  
  
The microwave beeps and Jongin jerks upright. It takes him a few seconds to blink and recognize his surroundings.   
  
“Slept alright?” Sehun asks.  
  
“Yeah, I -- ” Jongin rubs the back of his neck. “Just had a weird dream.”  
  
“Not about sea anemone, I hope.”  
  
Jongin chuckles. “No. Not yet.”  
  
Yerin goes, “Joh!” so Sehun maneuvers around the kitchen countertop to hand off Yerin, before returning to heat up a breakfast of miso soup.  
  
“I think I may have found a job,” Sehun begins tentatively.  
  
Jongin’s expression smooths into something closed off, and unreadable. “Oh?”  
  
“At the mall. They’re looking for employees at the travel agency.”  
  
Sehun brings over the bowl of baby food and a small plastic spoon. He sits on the ground next to Jongin.   
  
“Time to eat,” Jongin says to Yerin. “Open, please.”  
  
Obediently, Yerin opens her mouth and accepts a spoonful of puree from Sehun.  
  
“Were you thinking of taking the job?” Jongin asks, not looking at Sehun.  
  
“I -- I don’t know yet. I just wanted to tell you.”  
  
Sehun finishes feeding Yerin in silence. Jongin hands her back before setting the table for their breakfast. Jongin mixes his _natto,_ or fermented soybeans, into his rice expertly, twirling his chopsticks so the sticky, stringy residue doesn’t cling.   
  
They pass banana trees and leafy goya vines. There are two of their neighbors, hunched over in the fields, pulling at the weeds. Sehun and Jongin walk to FamilyMart, and then to the bus stop. The subject doesn’t come up again until --  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.  
  
“You know you don’t have to find a job,” Jongin begins quietly. They’ve passed the first vending machine on their walk to the bus station. Two school-boys run by, hollering at each other and chasing each other down the street.   
  
“I know,” Sehun says. “And I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me. But I don’t want to feel obligated -- ”  
  
“You are not obligated to anything,” Jongin says. “I know what it is like, moving to a new country. Having to relearn customs and language.”  
  
“Then you know how important it is to stay grounded,” Sehun argues. “To know yourself. To remain true to yourself.”  
  
They walk past two more vending machines before Jongin replies, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”  
  
Sehun lets out a deep breath. He readjusts Yerin’s hat and straightens her pretty yellow dress. “I’m saying that I thank you for your empathy. And your kindness. But I don’t want to take advantage of you, and I don’t want to feel indebted.”  
  
“You don’t owe me anything.”  
  
“Maybe not to you. But to me -- in my mind -- I’ll owe you. And I want to make it so that I’ll be able to sleep easily at night. I want to make it so that I’ll be able to live with myself, after this.”  
  
“Are you really thinking of it in that way? In that case, then how can you ever repay everyone in your life?”  
  
“I try my best -- ”  
  
“What about your parents? How can you ever repay everything that they’ve ever done for you? Don’t tell me it’s because of what you do for work, or anything like that. It’s near impossible to repay them for everything they’ve done for us.”  
  
Sehun remains quiet.   
  
“But just because you don’t pay it back to them, doesn’t mean you take advantage. You find other ways.”  
  
Sehun exhales. “For example?”  
  
“For example, your own children. The things given to you by your parents are the same things you can give back to your children. Not everything runs in a circle. We all pay back our debts in different ways.”  
  
“But I still feel uncomfortable accepting so much from you.”  
  
“Then pay me back another way.”  
  
Sehun forces himself to ask, “What could you possibly want from me?”  
  
“Allow me to help take care of Yerin.”  
  
Despite himself, Sehun barks out a laugh. “I don’t think that makes any sense.”  
  
Jongin counters, “Why not? You want to pay me back for what you believe is a debt. So I name my price.”  
  
“But taking care of Yerin falls under the same category of helping me!”  
  
“Not really. It’s quite selfish, I think. I like her -- a lot. So let me spend time with her. Consider that payment.”  
  
They reach the stop just as the faded green paint of Bus 30 comes into view.   
  
“You drive a hard bargain,” Sehun notes.  
  
“Do you accept my terms?”  
  
Sehun pauses. He looks at Jongin, taking in his expression -- the pinch of his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, the color of his bottom lip.   
  
“I accept,” Sehun says. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t interview for the job at the travel agency.”  
  
Bus 30 creaks as it stops in front of the station.   
  
“I expected nothing else,” Jongin says. He turns up the collar of his coat in deference to the drizzling rain. “At least you’ve agreed with me to stay a little while longer.”  
  
Sehun pats Yerin absently on the back.  
  
Jongin waves jauntily. “Pleasure doing business with you!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.  
  
“Peek-a-boo!” Jongin parts his hands to reveal a gummy smile.  
  
Yerin giggles.   
  
Jongin covers his face again.   
  
“Where did Jongin go?” Sehun prods Yerin. “Hm?”  
  
“Joh!”  
  
“Peek-a-boo!” Jongin parts his hands again.   
  
Yerin laughs loudly, as though they haven’t been doing this for the past thirty-minutes.   
  
“Alright,” Sehun says, “It’s time for bed, babe.”  
  
“Dah,” Yerin pouts.   
  
“Daddy’s so mean,” Jongin agrees.   
  
Sehun resists the urge to roll his eyes and puts the baby to bed after feeding her a bottle of milk. When he comes out of the bedroom, Jongin’s putting away the trash from their dinner of taco rice, which is exactly what it sounds like: a deconstructed taco -- lettuce, pico de gallo, sour cream, cheese, and taco meat -- all over rice, instead of a taco shell.   
  
“She’ll be talking soon,” Jongin says, drying the last of the dishes.   
  
“Good,” Sehun yawns. “Then she’ll be able to tell me what she needs. Hopefully.”  
  
“Isn’t it strange?” Jongin says. “Having children?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, having someone’s life -- a person’s future -- in your hands.”  
  
“It’s terrifying. Knowing how much you can influence another person. I mean, think of all the time that parents spend with their children.”   
  
Jongin makes a noise in the back of his throat.   
  
“But it’s not -- it’s not just a one moment thing. The teaching’s continual. Constant. Like researching. It never stops. There’s always more to know.”  
  
Jongin peers Sehun curiously. “I suppose there is.”  
  
Sehun pulls two cold beers from the refrigerator. They sit on the floor and do their work for a while.  
  
After sorting through all of his data on his computer, Sehun yawns again. He stretches.   
  
“Tired?” Jongin looks up.  
  
Sehun shrugs. “Just sore, really.”  
  
Jongin hesitates before asking, “Want to go for a walk?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
They finish their beers and put on sandals. Outside, the temperature has dipped into a cooler range. Sehun breathes in the still-warm tropical air.   
  
Cicadas drone on tonelessly. An evening zephyr rustles the thick foliage as they walk down the street, an arm’s distance apart. The sounds of a couple arguing drift down from an open apartment window.  
  
  
  
  
  
On Sunday, they stay home when a rainy storm hits. Jongin makes _okonomiyaki,_ a savory kind of pancake, Okinawa-style.  
  
Sehun helps mix in wheat flour, beaten eggs, and salt. Jongin cuts leeks and green onion. He pours the batter into a frying pan, spreading the mixture thinly. They go through the motions and make several pancakes, so much that by the time they’re done eating, Sehun feels like he won’t be able to eat for another week.   
  
They don’t talk much. The evening is sleepy. Somnolent. Peaceful.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.   
  
Chopped carrots, daikon, napa, and cucumbers litter the kitchen countertop.  
  
“What are you making?” Sehun watches avidly as Jongin mixes a solution together in a plastic jar that used to house kimchi.  
  
“Pickled vegetables,” Jongin explains. “One part sugar, one part vinegar, one part water -- mix it all together. Throw in whatever vegetables you want, and let it ferment for a day or two.” He tastes his solution. He licks his lips. He adds more sugar. “It’s good,” he insists.  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Sehun says.   
  
Jongin holds out a slice of cucumber.   
  
Sehun stares at it. “What?”  
  
“You want to eat it, or what?”  
  
Sehun starts to reach for it, but Jongin tuts. “You were just playing with the dinosaur toys with Yerin. Your hands are dirty.”  
  
Sehun scowls, but allows Jongin to feed him the slice. His fingertips brush against Sehun’s lips, and Sehun pretends that the touch doesn’t linger for the rest of the evening.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.  
  
After dinner, Jongin and Sehun rest.  
  
Jongin watches the TV and Sehun scrolls through his phone.  
  
The sound of crying interrupts them.  
  
Jongin gets up first, slipping into the bedroom to console the baby.  
  
Sehun goes to the refrigerator to get a bottle of milk, before following.  
  
After his eyes adjust to the darkness of the bedroom, Sehun sees Jongin lying on the futon, curled around a sniffling Yerin.  
  
“Look,” Jongin says, pointing at Sehun, “Your dad’s right here. He’s got milk for you. Don’t cry, Yerin.”  
  
Sehun kneels on the futon and offers Yerin the bottle. She whines and rolls back toward Jongin.   
  
“Yerin,” Sehun pleads.  
  
“Here,” Jongin says. He turns her gently, propping her up. She grabs his thumb and squeezes.   
  
Sehun manages to get Yerin to suckle for a bit, before the bottle slips and she starts babbling. “Dah, dah. Bah.”  
  
It takes the better part of an hour for Yerin to finish the bottle. Sehun sits, exhausted. Jongin’s fallen asleep, and he breathes heavily. When Yerin finally sighs happily, full and satiated, she crawls back into Jongin’s side. It’s nearly two in the morning, and Sehun still has to finish work for tomorrow. He heads to the couch, leaving Jongin and the baby sleeping in the bedroom.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.  
  
Because of their late night yesterday, the entire household wakes up late the next morning.  
  
Sehun bolts upright when he cracks opens his eyes and looks at his watch.  
  
“Jongin,” he yells, sticking his head into the bedroom. There’s barely a second to appreciate how adorable the baby and Jongin look, curled up into each other, before Sehun raps sharply on the wall. “Get up, we’re going to be late!”  
  
They skip breakfast, Sehun’s hair rumpled and Jongin’s coat askew by the time they lock the front door.  
  
“Let’s take the car,” Jongin says, handing Yerin over. “I’ll drive you to the daycare. We can drop her off and then go to work.”  
  
“But parking,” Sehun protests.  
  
“It’ll be fine,” Jongin says dismissively. They pile into the car -- lunch bags and backpacks in the trunk, Sehun in the passenger seat with Yerin on his lap -- and drive.  
  
When they pull up at OIST thirty minutes later, Jongin drives into the faculty lot and parks in the lot with his name painted on it.  
  
“Wait,” Sehun says. “I thought -- ”  
  
Mina raps sharply on the driver’s window. They get out of the car.  
  
“You carpool?” Mina frowns. She clicks her own car key, and the red Honda next to them chirps.   
  
“We live close together,” Sehun mumbles, when Jongin ignores both of them.   
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.   
  
“Where’s this community center?” Sehun asks.  
  
“Near San-A. Why do you ask?”  
  
“There’s a guest speaker there today. He’s coming in from the University of Seoul. Don’t you remember?”  
  
“I remembered,” Jongin says defensively. He snaps his briefcase together, and pulls off his glasses. “Come on, I’ll take you.”  
  
They drive to the community center, which is not too far from the institute. Sehun and Jongin exit the car and the lecturing professor spots them in the parking lot.  
  
“Oh Sehun!” he booms, reaching out to shake Sehun’s hand. “So nice to see you again.”  
  
“Nice to see you too, Professor Kim,” Sehun says.   
  
“Please, call me Junmyeon. We know each other better than that, don’t we?”  
  
The driver’s door swings open. Then Junmyeon goes, “Oh, hello, Jongin.”  
  
“You know each other?” Sehun asks, looking between the two professors.  
  
“Yes,” Jongin rubs his shoulder awkwardly. “We’re family friends.”  
  
“And how do you two know each other?” Junmyeon asks, as they walk toward the auditorium.  
  
Jongin says, “I’m his supervisor at OIST,” just as Sehun explains, “We live together.”  
  
“Oh,” Junmyeon says. He looks surprised, and a little scandalized. The other people mingling around them thankfully don’t understand Korean.  
  
“Not like that,” Jongin says, horrified. But then a woman with a clipboard ducks her head into the hallway to chirp in Japanese, “Professor Kim? We’re ready for you.”  
  
“I’ll -- um. I’ll catch up with you both later then?”  
  
Sehun nods, mortified. Jongin blushes red.  
  
They trail into the community center and into the open auditorium. There are people from all age groups: children and their parents, students and a few familiar faces from OIST. Sehun and Jongin find seats in the back of the hall as Junmyeon introduces himself in passable Japanese.  
  
“I didn’t know that you knew Junmyeon,” Sehun says, after the lecture. They’re in the car, driving back.   
  
“I didn’t know Junmyeon was the one lecturing,” Jongin mumbles. “He mentioned something about it, but -- ”  
  
“Let me guess, you weren’t paying attention?”  
  
Jongin snorts. “How do you know him?”  
  
“I met him when I was an undergrad. I attended a few of his seminars.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday. Yerin, back from daycare, playing with wooden blocks on the carpet of the living room. Sehun and Jongin, back from a long day at the school.  
  
“So Junmyeon wants to come over,” Jongin says.  
  
“To where, here?”  
  
“He’s my cousin.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Do you know Baekhyun?”  
  
“I do, actually. We met in school.”  
  
“He’s coming too.” Jongin hesitates, watching Yerin. “It shouldn’t be anything fancy. I was just planning on making dinner and having a few beers. Catching up. But if you don’t want to, then I can tell them we’re busy -- ”  
  
“No. It’s fine. I want to see Baekhyun again, anyway.” He pauses. “Unless. I can go, if you want. Take Yerin out for a few hours. I don’t want to make it difficult -- ”  
  
“Stay,” Jongin insists. “There’s nothing wrong -- ”  
  
Sehun’s cheeks heat up.   
  
Jongin looks away.  
  
“So,” is the first thing out of Baekhyun’s mouth when Jongin opens the door to let in their two visitors. “You study coral?”  
  
“We both do,” Jongin says, after everyone’s taken off their shoes and entered the house.   
  
“Byun Baekhyun,” says Baekhyun. “I study rocks. And dirt. Nice to meet you, Kim Jongin.”  
  
Jongin sends Sehun a skeptical look. Sehun shrugs, and hopes that the motion encompasses the strangeness that is Byun Baekhyun.   
  
It’s refreshing to joke and converse in Korean. Baekhyun and Junmyeon help set up the table, while Jongin and Sehun bring out steaming bowls of _udon_ and a heaping platter of shrimp _tempura._   
  
“This is delicious,” Junmyeon directs at Sehun, slurping up his udon noodles. “Did you make this all?”  
  
“Ah, no,” Sehun shakes his head. “Jongin did.”  
  
“Really? I’m shocked. At home, Jongin never cooked for any of us.”  
  
“Please don’t embarrass me,” Jongin says faintly, reaching for a battered piece of shrimp.   
  
“How old is the baby?” Baekhyun asks.  
  
Four sets of eyes turn to watch Yerin, who continually babbles as she clacks a wooden block with a T-Rex, uncaring of the attention bestowed upon her.   
  
“Almost ten months,” Sehun says, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.   
  
“She’s adorable,” Junmyeon says.   
  
“You have children?”  
  
“Two.” Junmyeon pulls up pictures on his phone and shows them to the rest of them. “Two boys, six and seven.”  
  
“Wow,” Sehun says. “That’s pretty close. Must’ve been a lot when they were toddlers.”  
  
Junmyeon grimaces. “Oh God, don’t remind me. My wife and I barely got any sleep then.”  
  
Jongin shakes his head. “I can’t imagine living with two boys. It’s hard enough with just one girl.” He grins at Sehun over his can of beer.  
  
“That,” Baekhyun jokes, “Makes me feel so glad I’m not a parent. Or married.”  
  
Before Sehun can say something, Baekhyun asks him, “So why coral?”  
  
Sehun straightens up.   
  
“Oh no,” Jongin groans. “Don’t get him started.”  
  
“Aren’t you his professor?” Junmyeon asks, amusedly. “Isn’t it good that he’s excited about his work?”  
  
“Not when I have to live with it. Work doesn’t ever stay just at work anymore,” Jongin mutters.  
  
Sehun cracks his knuckles before launching into an explanation. “Well you see,” he begins. “Lots of kinds of fish and animals live in coral. Tiny shrimp and reef sharks and sea turtles. They all rely on this community. The fact that coral reefs are dying means that we’re losing all of that diversity.”   
  
Sehun continues, “So our research deals with how to re-populate this coral. We want to use pieces of small coral from farmed coral to repopulate the natural wild species. But we want to make sure that there’s enough genetic diversity.”  
  
“Basically,” Jongin pipes in, “We want to save the wild coral with farmed coral, but don’t know if growing farmed coral in the wild will harm the original species.”  
  
“So you want to compare the genomes of the two kinds of coral,” Baekhyun nods. “Makes sense. If they’re similar enough, then you’ll be able to propagate the farmed coral into the wild. And save the coral reefs.”  
  
“And all of the animals that depend on them,” Sehun finishes.   
  
Baekhyun turns to Junmyeon. “That’s really cool,” Baekhyun says.  
  
“What about you?” Jongin asks. “What are you researching?”  
  
Baekhyun goes into his new findings -- insights into how certain tree species rely on certain types of soil. He starts explaining the difference between silt loam and sandy clay and clay loam.   
  
Eventually they get on the topic of family members. Then Junmyeon drags Jongin into a heated debate over an estranged cousin, so Baekhyun turns to Sehun.   
  
“So it’s nice that you both get to work in the same area,” Baekhyun says, as Jongin insists hotly, “No, _she_ was the one who left him, didn’t your uncle tell you?”  
  
“What?” Sehun says.   
  
“I mean you and Jongin. It’s nice when couples work in the same area, so it’s easier to coordinate when someone picks up the baby, right?”  
  
“Oh,” Sehun says, sitting back. “It’s not -- we aren’t like that.”  
  
Baekhyun frowns. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean. Jongin’s just -- just my teacher. We don’t work together. Not really. He’s -- um. He’s my supervisor. The head of the lab, so he just looks over my work.”  
  
“Oh,” Baekhyun’s eyes go round.  
  
“We’re just -- living together,” Sehun finishes lamely.  
  
At that moment, Yerin’s block goes skidding across the carpet and she starts crying. Sehun uses the excuse to slip from the conversation, though Baekhyun watches him curiously after that.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.   
  
“Junmyeon wants me to take him to the beach.”  
  
“You should go,” Sehun says absently. He feeds Yerin another spoonful of mango yogurt. “The weather is nice today.”  
  
“Will you come with us?”  
  
Yerin gurgles and Sehun carefully wipes away the yogurt smeared on her chin. “I have to stay home and take care of this one.”  
  
“I can pay for the babysitter,” Jongin says.  
  
“Go get your swimsuit,” Sehun says. “Doesn’t Junmyeon fly out tomorrow?”  
  
“Baekhyun will be there.”  
  
“I’ll have other chances to see them. Baekhyun told me Junmyeon wants to come back and visit.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“I’ll be fine, you know. You don’t have to worry.”  
  
“I always worry over you,” Jongin says, and before Sehun can reply, Jongin smiles faintly and walks away.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday. Sunny. Warm.   
  
“There’s a festival today, down by Naha. By the beach,” Jongin says.  
  
“That’s nice,” Sehun says. He picks apart his slice of melon bread.   
  
Jongin pats Yerin on the back. “Would you like to go? Since you couldn’t go swimming yesterday? You haven’t been to the beach since you got here.”  
  
“Who will take care of Yerin?”  
  
“We will. Bring her along.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Come on,” Jongin coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”  
  
It’s not -- terrible.  
  
They spend most of the morning packing clothes, extra diapers, a batch of _temaki zushi_ for lunch, and even more diapers. Sehun puts ice packs into a cooler while Jongin pours out three bottles of milk. They forget beach towels, so they lose some time driving back to get those, and extra sunscreen.  
  
By the time they arrive at the beach, most of the tables by the bathrooms are taken, so Jongin and Sehun find a shaded table by the grassy field. The smell of barbecue -- where families are grilling sausage, white onion, and beef -- drift into the air. On the grass, food vendors have set up stands selling _takoyaki --_ battered octopus balls -- and shaved ice and chicken skewers. A stage has been set up, and drummers are practicing their performance.   
  
Yerin squeals excitedly when Jongin spreads sunscreen over her face. “Stay still,” he tells her. “Come here, baby.”  
  
“You know I gave her swimming lessons, back in Korea?”  
  
“You did?”  
  
“Well, I signed her up for them.”  
  
Jongin frowns. “Babies can’t swim.”  
  
“They can get used to the water. Now, when she’s in pools, she doesn’t cry.”  
  
“Well,” Jongin says to Yerin, “You’re going to have fun today, aren’t you?”  
  
Yerin gurgles when Sehun slips on her Little Swimmers waterproof diapers. Sehun blows up her floaties and secures them on her arms. Jongin takes off his shirt and Sehun nearly pops the inflatable arm float.   
  
“You ready?” Jongin asks Yerin, smiling.  
  
“Jah!”  
  
Sehun asks him, “Did you put on sunscreen yet?”  
  
“Some. I couldn’t get my back -- ”  
  
“Here,” Sehun says quickly, “Let me get it for you.”  
  
Jongin holds Yerin in the front, talking baby-talk to her. Sehun squirts out biodegradable and environmentally-friendly sunscreen into his palm. The white stuff is sticky and cold. Sehun warms it in his palms.  
  
Jongin’s shoulders are tan and broad. His chest tapers into a thin waist. Sehun’s mouth feels dry when he spreads the goopy sunscreen onto Jongin’s back.   
  
“This is the good sunscreen, you know,” Jongin says conversationally. When he speaks, he shifts slightly, and his smooth muscles ripple under Sehun’s palms.   
  
“Yeah?” Sehun says distractedly.   
  
“Yeah. The chemicals won’t kill coral reefs.”  
  
“That’s good,” Sehun says faintly. Yerin grabs Jongin’s nose. “All done.” Sehun wipes the excess sunscreen on his legs.  
  
“Come on, baby,” Jongin says to Yerin. He adjusts the waistband of his swimming trunks, and carries Yerin toward the water. Yerin’s wide-brimmed sun-hat flops with each step.   
  
On the material of his swimming trunks, Sehun dries his hands, and takes off his own shirt. He feels pale and skinny, but follows Jongin into the ocean.  
  
The sand is warm and the ocean water warmer. Jongin carries Yerin carefully, angling her in such a way that the waves never splash her face, and the salty water never reaches her eyes.   
  
Yerin laughs gleefully and splashes the water with her fists. “Bah, bah!” she announces.   
  
The beach is crowded: swimmers from all around laugh and play, tossing around frisbees and running back and forth on the sand. A few dogs bark.   
  
When they finish swimming, Jongin brings Yerin back up to the table, with Sehun pulling up the rear. They pull out their sushi rolls and eat eagerly. Jongin and Sehun take turns feeding Yerin her porridge puree. Afterwards, they towel off and carry Yerin to the street vendors.   
  
“Eisa drummers,” Jongin explains, pointing at the stage. “They perform at a lot of Okinawan festivals.”  
  
“A folk dance?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s singing and chanting and dancing.” They watch as the drummers chant rhythmically, hitting their drums with their sticks. Jongin disappears for a few minutes, leaving Sehun with Yerin, and comes back with a bowl of shaved ice. _“Kakigori,”_ Jongin explains. “Shaved ice. This one’s strawberry flavored.” He holds up a spoonful and Sehun protests for a moment, before letting Jongin feed him a piece.   
  
“It’s good,” Sehun says. “Is there condensed milk in there?”  
  
“There is,” Jongin confirms, taking a spoonful for himself. “It’s kind of like bingsu.”  
  
The kakigori is as rich as ice cream, but as refreshing as a sorbet. The strawberry flavor is delicious, and Jongin feeds Sehun most of it.   
  
Hibiscus flowers are in full bloom, luscious pink and yellow and white petals splashes of color against the green backdrop and blue sky. The smell of street food mixes pleasantly with the ocean air. Fountain palm trees sway gently in the salty breeze. Almost perfect.   



	7. Interlude

The days pass so gradually it’s hard to pinpoint a single moment that stands out more than the rest. Their time together is more of a string of memories, each moment a bead that comes together in total to form this long chain. A slow and steady progression. A play unfolding.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.  
  
“Oh my God,” Yui exclaims dramatically, when she sees Sehun in the breakroom. “You got to meet Kim Junmyeon?”  
  
“I knew him when I lived in Seoul,” Sehun says, taken aback.  
  
“You did? Is that how you got to talk to him after his seminar? I tried to introduce myself, but he was so busy!”  
  
“How did you know I met him?”  
  
She waves her phone. “He posted a photo of you and him and Professor Kim and Professor Byun.”  
  
“Oh.” Sehun peers at the photo. It’s the one that was taken right after the seminar.  
  
“Professor Kim says that he’s family friends with Kim Junmyeon.”  
  
“They are.”  
  
“You’re so lucky,” she says dreamily. “You know everyone.”  
  
“Kim Junmyeon is hardly everyone,” Sehun insists.  
  
“He’s so handsome,” Yui says, sighing. She rests her chin on her fist, which is propped up by her elbow resting on the table. “Not as handsome as Professor Kim, of course, but who am I to judge? I love all scholarly men.” She sighs again.  
  
Sehun feels vaguely uncomfortable. He starts looking around for something to do, something to clean, maybe.  
  
“I mean, they’ve published so many papers. How attractive, right? Can you imagine how much they get in funding?”  
  
“I think there’s something wrong with your standards of measurement,” Sehun raises an eyebrow.  
  
Yui narrows her eyes. “Are you saying that I can’t judge a man’s worth by the number of times his articles have been cited?”  
  
Sehun holds up his hands innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“Anyway,” Yui brushes her bangs out of her face. “Are you busy next weekend?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Professor Kim’s asked me to come with him on our yearly visit to Tokashiki-jima.”  
  
“That’s nice. Are you excited?”  
  
“I don’t think I can go.” Yui looks at Sehun. “My brother has a baseball game that weekend.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Would you like to go for me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sehun says hesitantly. He doesn’t want any more incriminating evidence in the mess that is his and Jongin’s relationship.  
  
“Please,” she begs. “I need someone to go and take notes for me.”  
  
Sehun says half-heartedly, “I really can’t, you know.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I’m taking care of a baby -- ”  
  
“I love babies! I can babysit for you, oh, please let me babysit for you!”  
  
Sehun protests, “She’s not even one year old yet, I don’t know how well -- ”  
  
“I’ve babysitted before! Is it your baby, Sehun?”  
  
Sehun swallows. “It is.”  
  
“Great!” Yui says, without an ounce of hesitation or distaste that Sehun was expecting. She doesn’t ask why Sehun’s living alone in a country with a child, or where the mother is. “That means that she’ll be very cute, right?”  
  
Sehun finds himself saying, “Her name is Yerin.”  
  
They end up talking about Yerin all throughout lunch. Sehun pulls up an entire album of photos and Yui squeals happily.  
  
“I can’t believe you hid her from me all this time,” she gushes. Sehun’s given up on scrolling through the photos; he just handed Yui the phone and let her flip through the album. “She’s so _cute!”_ _  
_ _  
_ “She’s a handful,” Sehun warns.  
  
“God, look at her little nose,” Yui says. “I just want to pinch her cheeks!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Life in Okinawa quickly becomes just life.  
  
The days go by fast, and Yerin grows during each one. There are bad days, like --  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Like Tuesday, when Yerin won’t stop crying and refuses to let go of Sehun’s shirt at the babysitter’s. Sehun walks into the lab with snot all over his shirt and the beginnings of a migraine. Jongin glances at him and then steers him into the breakroom.  
  
“You really don’t have to do this,” Sehun mumbles.  
  
Jongin shuffles around the cabinet and pulls out a clean-looking mug. He starts making tea.  
  
“I leave you alone for one morning, and you come into the office looking like this?”  
  
There’s a moderately loud plunk as Sehun drops his head onto the table.  
  
Jongin sets the mug of steaming tea onto the table and crosses his arms, leaning against the sink.  
  
The door opens and Yui peeks in. “Professor?” she asks politely in Japanese, “One of the students from the chemistry department is asking for you.”  
  
Jongin switches back to Japanese to say, “That’s fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”  
  
Yui spots Sehun and raises an eyebrow.  
  
Jongin quietly ushers her away.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Like Wednesday, when Sehun’s wrapped up in two blankets despite the weather, muddled up on the couch, surrounded by a sea of discarded tissues and two empty cartons of lemon tea.  
  
“You’re sick,” Jongin says, not for the first time.  
  
“Am not,” Sehun croaks as he flips the page of Jongin’s book of Okinawan history. “‘M just feeling a bit tired, is all.”  
  
Jongin looks distinctly unimpressed. He feeds Yerin another spoonful of yogurt. “Please tell your father that he’s very silly,” Jongin instructs the baby.  
  
“Don’t turn my baby against me,” Sehun mumbles. His voice is hoarse and his throat feels like sandpaper.  
  
“You’re the baby,” Jongin says, but he comes over and smooths a palm over Sehun’s forehead. “And you have a fever.”  
  
“Help me, Professor,” Sehun says feebly, only half joking. His blankets are pulled up to his chins and he feels like he can’t move.  
  
Jongin does.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bad days like Thursday, when Sehun forces himself to go to work, and ends up dropping an Erlenmeyer flask. The glass shatters and Sehun stares at the broken shards. Yuta says, “Sehun?”  
  
Jongin comes in. “Sehun,” he says sharply.  
  
Sehun looks up. “Sorry,” he croaks. “I didn’t -- ” his head pounds and his brain feels like it’s throbbing in his skull. Yerin’s crying echoes in his ear. He can’t remember the last time he slept for longer than three hours at a time.  
  
“Take off your coat,” Jongin commands firmly, but gently.  
  
“Let me finish this,” Sehun protests.  
  
“Take off your goggles. Come with me.”  
  
They head to the empty supply closet at the end of the corridor. Jongin shuts the door behind him. Sehun looks up and isn’t shocked to see a twin expression of weariness on Jongin’s face.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sehun repeats, “I didn’t think that my reflexes would be that bad. I thought -- ”  
  
“Go home,” Jongin says gently. He puts a hand on Sehun’s shoulder. His palm is heavy and comforting. “You’re tired.”  
  
“You are too,” Sehun protests.  
  
Jongin smiles. “I’ve been doing this longer than you think.” He repeats, “Go home. Make yourself some soup. I’ll pick up Yerin.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
But there are also many good days.  
  
Friday is a good day. Friday is when they finish their work early, and head home on the early bus. Jongin sits next to Sehun in the back. The bus jostles them and Sehun doesn’t pull away when their arms press together. Sehun entertains himself by watching Jongin’s hands, as he counts out his change. Watches Jongin’s fingers, which flip a fifty yen coin over and over and over. His hands are steady from years of working in the lab. Sehun is overcome with the sudden and inexplicable urge to touch them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday. Another good day.  
  
They wake up early and Yerin watches _Anpanman_ with Jongin. Sehun drives out to buy cheese pastries for breakfast and comes back to see Jongin snoozing on the couch with Yerin sprawled out on his chest, thick as thieves.  
  
Sehun snaps a photo and adds it to his album.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And Sunday.  
  
Jongin and Sehun take a walk around the neighborhood, alternating between who carries the baby. Children run around, playing tag in the park, riding their bikes on the streets. A class of adults are doing tai chi on the grass.  
  
Sehun thinks that the streets are old, and full of history. To know the dark, narrow spaces between stores; to eat elbow to elbow in a cramped soba shop, tucked in an abandoned alley; to visit the castle ruins and war memorials; to walk the roads and talk to the people is to experience the melange of cultures and traditions that fill Okinawan stories.  
  
To live here is to live in this ethereal place, this unreal place. This humid, tropical place. This place of palm fronds and warm waters and war-torn streets and never-empty parks. To live here is to live in the old country and the new country, all at once.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And Monday.  
  
Yerin discovers the baby shark song and becomes addicted. Jongin broadcasts it onto the TV and she squeals, slamming her fists onto the carpet excitedly. She watches it avidly and Sehun takes advantage of her rapture to take a quick power nap.  
  
He wakes to the sight of baby shark dancing on the TV, muted, and Jongin with Yerin on his lap. “In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf.” He flips the page of the picture book. “One Sunday morning, the warm sun came up and -- _pop!_ \-- out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar.” Jongin brushes his finger against Yerin’s nose. “Just like you.” He continues, “On Monday, he ate through one apple. But he was still hungry.”  
  
Sehun wonders what kind of chivalry he’d performed in his past life to deserve this.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“On Tuesday, he ate through two pears, but he was still hungry.” Yellow baby shark, swimming on the TV. Sehun, stirring a wok of kimchi fried rice. Jongin reading to Yerin on the couch.  
  
Sehun pushes away the dinosaur toys and plastic dolls from their table. He puts down the platter of fried rice. He watches his daughter and his professor for a moment. Then he ignores the aching in his chest in favor of retrieving two beers from the refrigerator.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“On Wednesday, he ate through three plums, but he was still hungry.”  
  
Sehun enters the bedroom to see Jongin lying next to Yerin on the futon, reading together. Her eyes are drooping and she’s on the brink of sleeping. Jongin closes the book.  
  
“Stay with her,” Sehun murmurs. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep as well.” Before Jongin can protest, Sehun says, “If you move right now, you’ll wake her. And it’ll take another half hour for her to fall asleep again.”  
  
Jongin pushes the book aside and snuggles up to Yerin.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There are many good days.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“On Thursday, he ate through four strawberries, but he was still hungry.”  
  
After dinner again. Sehun blinks his eyes open. He hadn’t realized he fell asleep.  
  
“Sorry,” Jongin says apologetically. He’s on the other side of the futon, Yerin in the middle. “I didn’t mean to wake you. She just crawled in -- ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Sehun whispers.  
  
Somehow, the small futon manages to fit all three of them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“On Friday, he ate through five oranges, but he was still hungry.”  
  
An empty bottle of milk by the door, two extra diapers on the carpet. Sehun reaches up and touches Jongin’s elbow before he can go.  
  
“Stay,” Sehun says, half asleep. “The couch is terrible for your neck.”  
  
“Go to sleep,” Jongin says, extracting his arm gently. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“On Saturday,” Jongin reads. “He ate through one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon.”  
  
Yerin gurgles, her plush dinosaur slipping from her hands as she nods off. Sehun is suddenly struck with the strange and terrifying realization that he is responsible for this soft and tiny, endearing little human.  
  
“Stay,” Sehun says again, as Jongin puts the book down.  
  
Jongin stays.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Many good days.  


	8. Scenes From Tokashiki-jima

Monday.    
  
“Do we have everything?” Sehun asks, scanning the contents of their open suitcase again.   
  
“It isn’t that long,” Jongin says patiently. “It’s only a few days.”   
  
“If I weren’t like this,” Sehun says petulantly, “Then we would’ve forgotten sunscreen last week when we went to the beach.”   
  
“Sorry,” Jongin apologizes, though he doesn’t sound like he means it at all and his lips are quirked in that way when he’s amused.    
  
Sehun runs his fingers over his mouth while he looks at the bag he packed for Yui. Some irrational, paranoid part of him still remains hesitant at the thought of leaving his baby -- his daughter -- with another grad student for nearly a week, but Sehun forces himself to calm down. “It’ll be fine,” Sehun tells himself.   
  
“It’ll be fine,” Jongin reassures him.   
  
“It’ll be fine,” Sehun says again, more firmly.   
  
After kissing Yerin goodbye -- twice -- and handing off typed instructions as well as going over Yerin’s nighttime routine -- not two, but three times -- with Yui, Sehun feels comfortable enough to get back into the car, where Jongin and the rest of their packed things wait.   
  
“Good?” Jongin says.    
  
“Fine,” Sehun says. “I’ve just never been away from her for so long.”   
  
“You know, we really don’t have to go. I’m sure Yui would be fine -- ”   
  
“No,” Sehun interrupts. “I want to go. I think I need to. For the sake of my own sanity. Not that -- I mean, not that I don’t -- ”   
  
Jongin quiets Sehun with a light touch to his elbow. Sehun resolutely does not shiver. “I get it,” Jongin says, solemnly.    
  
They drive for the better part of an hour. Jongin puts on a playlist that contains John Coltrane and Miles Davis and Duke Ellington, which really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, but it is.    
  
Something must show on Sehun’s face though, because Jongin turns down the volume a bit timidly. “Sorry,” he starts.   
  
“No,” Sehun shakes his head. “I -- I like it. I just,” Sehun watches Jongin’s fingers fiddle with the knob for the volume, then forces himself to look away. “I just never thought about what kind of music you listen to before.”   
  
“I like jazz,” Jongin says, a bit unnecessarily.   
  
“I can tell.” Sehun has to bite down a grin.    
  
“What?”    
  
“I don’t know. It’s just -- right, I guess.”   
  
“How is it right?”   
  
The road unspools before them, gray sky blurring into the thick and abundant greenery. Telephone lines string along the streets. They turn onto the highway, and trudge along. It looks as though it’ll rain.   
  
“Well,” Sehun says. “You wear those wire-rimmed glasses. And you write in leather journals with the fountain pens you like so much. You wear black and camel-colored coats even though it’s so hot. And you’re very patient with your students even though we must drive you crazy. You have that huge map in your living room with the little pins on it. It’s all -- very you. Jazz is very you.”   
  
Jongin throws back his head and actually laughs. Sehun feels a bit embarrassed at how much he’s revealed about himself.    
  
“Are you calling me old-fashioned?” Jongin teases. “Or are you calling me a hipster? I can’t tell.”   
  
Sehun flushes even more. “I don’t know,” Sehun mumbles.    
  
They reach the port and park in an assigned lot. Jongin navigates to the center building and expertly purchases their tickets. Money changes hands too quickly for Sehun to protest, and then Jongin’s ushering them out the door. They walk around the water’s edge to reach the other side of the port, where they board the small ferry.    
  
It takes another thirty minutes in the ferry to reach the mainland. Five minutes in, Sehun’s stomach turns and he grips the armrests of his seat -- thankfully, they’re seated below the surface of the ferry, in an air-conditioned room -- involuntarily.   
  
Jongin leans over with a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Talk,” Sehun demands. “Tell me a story. Or why you like jazz. Or something.” He grimaces as the ferry hits another wave and his stomach lurches again.    
  
Jongin looks hesitant, but complies. “I guess you could call me a romantic. I like jazz. I like the idea of jazz. I like the history of it.” He settles in his seat. “I imagine listening to jazz at a speakeasy, or something. In America, in the 40s. Imagine the smoke and the poetry. Everything’s blurry. Blue.” Jongin shrugs. “Listening to a saxophone solo and thinking about a revolution.”   
  
“You like history,” Sehun says, matter-of-factly.    
  
Jongin smiles faintly before delving into an explanation of Okinawan history. Sehun observes him: the way Jongin’s glasses catch the light; the way his hair’s rumpled in the front over his eyebrows; the way he smells faintly of coffee and Shiseido’s Tsubaki shampoo -- the plastic container for which Sehun sees in the shower all the time, and the flowery camellia and ginseng smell of which Sehun has grown to love; the slivers of skin peeking out from his ripped jeans because Jongin insists that he wishes to break the stereotype of old professors; the way his lovely hands curve when he speaks.   
  
For the second time that day, Sehun surprises himself with how much he knows about Jongin.    
  
The ferry docks and Jongin cranes his neck to peer out the window. “Oh,” he says delightedly, “We’re here.”   
  
“You’re really well-rounded, you know,” Sehun feels the need to say, as they’re waiting for everyone to file off the ferry.    
  
Jongin gives Sehun an odd look. “Thank you?” he says. Sehun is almost about to elaborate, but then the aisle clears and then they head out to collect their things and disembark.    
  
They step off the gangway and onto solid land again. They walk into a parking lot where tourists, outfitted with summery clothes and a faint sheen of sunscreen, mill about. Jongin gestures towards a neglected-looking van at the edge of the asphalt.    
  
“Good afternoon,” the woman driving the van chirps. She helps them put their things in and, upon Jongin’s prompting, launches into an explanation of how tourists love to come to the island, and what seasons are best to visit. Sehun lets the words flow over him, instead turning to watch the view from outside the window.   
  
Unbelievably blue ocean stretches on for miles and miles, unmarred save for the lush green spots of islands that dot the sea. From what Sehun can see, the sand is pearly white.    
  
The driver catches Sehun’s expression in the mirror and chuckles. “Pretty, isn’t it?”   
  
“It’s beautiful,” Sehun says.    
  
They stay in a hostel.    
  
Sehun doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it probably wasn’t this: a two-storied complex with an overhang for the yard, a slab of corrugated metal slanting over the driveway where motorcycles, workout paraphernalia, repair tools and old toys faded from the sun and half of a truck -- which has been taken apart for what looks like spare parts -- clutter the area.    
  
“It’s good to see you back, Professor,” a tanned girl comes out to greet them. She’s probably around the same age as them, if not younger. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a loose bun and she’s wearing an apron over her shirt and shorts. Talkative and confident, she brings them in, sliding open the screen door while there’s a baby on her hip. “And it’s nice to meet you, Sehun!”   
  
She’s showed them the two bathrooms, the two showering areas, and the kitchen, when a toddler waddles out, nibbling on a piece of toast. She stares up at Sehun with huge eyes.   
  
“Hi,” he says to her.    
  
She smiles gummily.    
  
“And here is your room,” their host, Momo, gestures towards the door with the number 3 hanging over it. Sehun peeks inside to see a small  _ tatami  _ matted room, with two pillows and two futons stacked neatly in the corner and nothing else. “Please let me know if you need anything!”   
  
“Thank you so much,” Jongin says, nodding politely. The other inhabitants of the hostel must be out at the beach, Sehun presumes, since the other room doors are shut, and there are no other shoes in front of the screen door.    
  
The fan whirs in a hum of static. It’s hotter here, more sticky and more humid.    
  
“You don’t mind,” Jongin reverts back to Korean and glances at Sehun worriedly, “I only got one room. There’re two futons, and there’s plenty of space.”   
  
“No,” Sehun’s voice hitches, though probably not for the reason Jongin may be thinking of. “It’s fine.” Sehun says, “Teacher’s pay, right?”   
  
“Right,” Jongin says, though he doesn’t smile like Sehun expected.   
  
They put their suitcase in the corner of the room. Sehun glances through the screen window to see a little metal shed in the overgrown garden and a wild cat yawning in the grass.     
  
“Dinner is in about an hour,” Jongin says, after they unpack and drink a few glasses of cold water.    
  
“Let’s go for a walk.”   
  
Leaving their things in the hostel, Jongin and Sehun step out into the evening.    
  
The sky is bruised pink and purple. The streets are old and stray cats meow from the alleyways. The ocean peeks out from in between buildings in front of them. Behind them are rolling hills covered in tropical greenery.    
  
They walk for a bit, revelling in the warm summer evening, before turning the corner and heading to a restaurant. They order skewers of quail eggs wrapped in bacon, and goya salad with egg and ham and cucumber, and tuna slices -- dark purple on rice with onion.    
  
After dinner, they head back to the hostel to prepare for bed. After they finish showering and washing up, Jongin comes back into their small room wearing a practical loose shirt and shorts that fall somewhere above his knees. Sehun wonders how he’s never noticed the little mole on Jongin’s neck before.    
  
They unroll their sheets, one futon on each end of the room. They turn off the lights. It’s quiet without the sounds of a baby. They sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.    
  
Something has changed. Sehun doesn’t know what, doesn’t know when -- maybe the first time Jongin picked up Yerin, or the time he bought Sehun honey milk tea boba. Maybe it was a realization between the time Sehun went to bed last night and the moment he woke up today. Maybe it was their first meeting. Maybe it’s this very moment, this one right here. Maybe it’s all of them.   
  
Either way, something has changed. Because Sehun wakes up and he thinks about the little mole on Jongin’s neck and the way Jongin’s hands look and the low rasp of his voice before coffee. Because Sehun wakes up with a strange aching in his gut, as sunlight pours into the room and Jongin lifts his head from the pile of blankets.    
  
“You’re up early,” Jongin rasps, wincing as the sun falls on his face.   
  
“I just woke up a few minutes ago,” Sehun lies. He’s sure that Jongin knows, but thankfully, he doesn’t call him out on it.    
  
They wash up and change into their swimming trunks.    
  
“Today we’ll just see the coral in the bay,” Jongin explains. “There’s a beach and an island just off the coast. We’ll take a banana boat over.”   
  
Sehun nods, chewing his breakfast of spam and egg musubi -- lovingly referred to as pork tamago in Okinawa. Jongin had just bought it from the convenience store -- the only one on the whole island.    
  
“Later,” Jongin continues, “We’ll take a boat out to see our farmed coral.”   
  
Bright white sunlight on sand and a startlingly picturesque ocean greets them when Jongin and Sehun walk ten minutes from the hostel towards the beach. Everything is warm, clear, and perfect: the sky, the sea, the air.   
  
They walk across the shore -- the sand on the beach is less sand and more of an amalgamation of rocks and shells: upon closer inspection, Sehun sees that the bleached, bone-like pieces are actually broken coral strewn among regular sand -- and to the waiting banana boat. Jongin fires off a few lines of rapid Japanese that Sehun can’t catch, but they shoulder their things and clamber onto the banana boat.   
  
The ride only takes about two minutes: the small island is well within sight of the shoreline. Jongin sets up a small beach tent that he’d brought under the shade of a rocky hill and then they go swimming. The unbelievably clear water makes it easy to see tropical fish and a variety of coral, but Sehun knows that something’s changed because he spends more time watching the way Jongin’s fingers ripple in the water, the way the arch of his foot curls delicately as he kicks. Sehun knows because despite the beauty of Tokashiki Island, he can’t stop looking at Jongin.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
The hostel is old-fashioned. There’s a laundry machine in the corner of the cramped house; after washing, they carry the wet clothes and climb the steep metal stairs to the corrugated metal roof, where they hang up and air-dry it all.   
  
They share it with a woman and her two sons who speak exclusively in English -- her sons use their iPad to watch Minecraft videos and are rarely seen anywhere other than sitting at the main table -- as well as a Japanese family who brings along a board game.   
  
Everything is humid, sticky, with mosquitoes everywhere. Sehun is already halfway through a bottle of anti-itching cream.    
  
After swimming out to see the coral, Jongin and Sehun come back in the afternoon to finish washing their swimsuits. Then they walk to the tiny convenience store to buy ice cream: already in Japan, the aisles in markets are impossibly close together, but here, it’s difficult to squeeze through without running into other customers. On the walls are washi papered calligraphy, stencils of catches of fish from twenty, even thirty years ago. It feels like the old country.   
  
And outside, they walk down the empty streets. Evening comes quickly, painting the sky in dusky shades of pink-purple. They walk and talk. Wild cats roam everywhere.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
It’s warm, even at night. Jongin’s in the hostel, on the phone. Sehun’s wandering the streets, which are warm -- even at night. With the humidity and the rustling of trees in the background, it truly feels tropical.    
  
Sehun goes to the convenience store, stepping neatly over the stray cat that always likes to wander in and ducking behind a few customers to grab a carton of Lipton apple tea for Jongin and a few pieces of pork tamago.    
  
When he comes back with the goods, Jongin looks up, surprised.    
  
“Apple tea,” he says. “My favorite.”   
  
“Don’t look so surprised,” Sehun says wryly.    
  
“Still,” Jongin says, pleased. “Thank you.”   
  
It’s so easy to make him happy.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday. Their last day. Bags packed, checked out of the hostel, just savoring their last few hours out in the ocean.   
  
Sehun’s staring through sunlit waters, down at a beautiful array of coral and tropical fish when the realization suddenly slams into him. He physically chokes, swallowing a mouthful of salt water into his mouth and inhaling a good deal through his nose.    
  
Jongin yanks him out of the water. “Are you alright?” he demands, his face furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”   
  
Sehun gags up some ocean water and Jongin -- who’s holding onto a long floatation tube out of, apparently justified, paranoia -- hauls him onto the floating tube.    
  
“‘M fine,” Sehun manages hoarsely when Jongin thumps him solidly on the back.    
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says again, more worriedly, “Do you want me to call the boat back? We can -- ”   
  
“I said, I’m fine,” Sehun insists, wiping his face. Belatedly, he realizes that they are very close. Jongin’s arms are still mostly wrapped around Sehun’s shoulders, and their legs are brushing under the tube.    
  
“Are you crazy?” Jongin demands. “What was wrong? One minute you’re fine, and then you started choking.”   
  
Sehun shakes his head again. “Just choked, that’s all.”   
  
Jongin looks disbelieving, but mercifully lets the matter go.    
  



	9. Interlude

In retrospect, Sehun should have seen it coming.   
  
It was less of a startling shock and more of a sudden realization.   
  
A realization that Sehun and Jongin have shared many moments. Tiny dots on an endless timeline.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Moments like this Monday. Jongin’s sick, and adamant that he still go to work.   
  
Sehun has no choice but confine him to the living room, effectively putting the professor on house arrest.   
  
“Let me take care of you,” Sehun insists.   
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says morosely, from where he’s sitting on the couch, wrapped up to his chin in blankets and sniffly sadly. This is the third time they’ve seen this commercial for shampoo.   
  
“Hm?” Sehun looks up from where he stirs a pot of ramen.   
  
“I respect you,” Jongin rasps. “Like. I really do. I mean, you work so hard all of the time. And you have a daughter that you care so much for. And I know you’re exhausted most days, so I wish I could do more to help. And I wish you would do more to let me in.”  
  
Sehun says eloquently, “Um.”  
  
Jongin scrunches his nose cutely. “How much cough medicine did you give me?”  
  
“A double dose.”  
  
Jongin makes a noise that vaguely resembles consent.   
  
Cautiously, Sehun asks, “What are you thinking about?”  
  
“I guess -- well, I don’t really know you as much as I want to.”  
  
Sehun flushes. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Do you like jazz music? What was your favorite subject in high school?” Jongin shrugs. “Stuff like that. What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite time of day?”  
  
Sehun turns off the stove. He goes to sit down on the couch next to Jongin, by his blanketed feet. Jongin looks at the TV blankly. Sehun adjusts his blanket before answering.  
  
“I only like the jazz music you play for me. I loved biology in high school but hated my teacher. I want to see the countryside. My favorite color used to be blue, but now it’s yellow. My favorite time of day is at night, right before I fall asleep. I love it because it’s the time I use to think.”  
  
“What do you think about,” Jongin says softly. The muted TV colors dance on Jongin’s face. His lips are pillowy. Perfect.  
  
“I think about a lot. I think about the baby. I think about you. I think about how it’s -- how it’s scary -- ”  
  
“Scary?”  
  
Sehun licks his lips. He wonders if they’d be having this conversation if Jongin weren’t effectively drugged. “Raising a child. Living up to her expectations. Soon she’ll be able to talk. She’ll be going to school. She’ll be learning and becoming her own person and -- ”  
  
“It’s alright to be scared. It’s good to be scared. If you aren’t scared, then it means you don’t care.”  
  
Sehun scrubs his face. “I just never thought -- I never thought I’d be here. I thought I had things worked out in high school -- ”  
  
“Hey,” Jongin sits up, his voice sounding concerned. He takes Sehun’s hand. His skin is warm and slightly dry. “But it isn’t so bad here, is it?”  
  
“No,” Sehun says truthfully. He grips Jongin’s hand back, a little too tightly. “It’s not.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
On Tuesday, Yuta gives an impromptu lecture during lunch, going on about sea anemone mating, how the animals release spores that pour out into the ocean.   
  
“Ninety-nine percent of the pollen in the world goes nowhere,” Yuta says, standing on a chair in their lunchroom. Jongin walks in, predictably late, and glances up, before apparently deeming this situation not unusual enough to deter him from heating up his lunch. “Elm trees, oak trees, walnut trees -- ”  
  
“You’re the nut,” Yui mutters to herself as she mixes her egg and rice.   
  
Sehun suppresses a snort.  
  
“ -- just release their pollen!”  
  
“Nature is a game of chance,” Jongin interjects. “It’s like cashing in to win the lottery, nothing more than that. And the plants and animals know that; that’s why they make so many seeds and spores and eggs.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be,” Sehun counters.   
  
Jongin takes a seat from across the table and raises an eyebrow.   
  
“I mean, fig flowers can’t be reproduced without a wasp. When a wasp goes into a fig flower to lay eggs, she deposits the pollen that coated her when she hatched out of another fig flower. They can’t reproduce without each other.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“It’s hundreds of thousands of years of evolution boiled down to the relationship between two species that depend on each other to survive.” Sehun shrugs. “So, it’s not chance.”  
  
“That kind of specificity is extremely rare,” Jongin counters. “It’s hardly worth mentioning.”  
  
But Sehun doesn’t back down. “They evolved side by side. It’s the perfect example of symbiosis between two species meant for each other.”  
  
“Like nature’s soulmates!” Yuta exclaims triumphantly.  
  
Jongin gives Yuta a look but then grins at Sehun. Sehun’s mouth goes dry.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And sometimes, it’s the mundane things that stand out the most.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Did you ever think you’d be here,” Sehun asks, as they’re walking down linoleum tiles in the San-A grocery store, surrounded by raw fish and hoisin sauce and packages of instant curry.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You know,” Sehun gestures around them.   
  
“Paying with a teacher’s salary? Living in a foreign country? Standing in a grocery aisle?”  
  
Sehun grins. “I didn’t want to say it.”  
  
Jongin shrugs, then smiles sweetly. “I don’t think any of us ever get what we expect out of life. And I think you always look back on decisions you’ve made. Overanalyzing. Overthinking. Regretting.”  
  
“What decisions?”  
  
Jongin eyes a package of instant noodles. “Hm?”  
  
“What decisions do you think back on?”  
  
“Going into academia, I suppose. I could’ve gone to this biotech company after grad school, working in Tokyo or something, but I’m here instead.”  
  
Sehun feels the sudden urge to touch. He licks his lips, and after a moment of thought, places a comforting hand on Jongin’s elbow. Neutral.   
  
“It’s fine,” Jongin says, patting Sehun’s wrist absently. He puts the ramen back on the shelf. “I think I’m okay with the ordinary.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, there are movies and books about making revolution and discovering new technology and going into space and all this crazy stuff. I know I’m making progress with my research, but if we’re being honest with ourselves, academia moves slowly.” Jongin pushes the cart onward, into the next aisle. “But I’m okay with that. I’m okay with being normal, being boring.”  
  
“I wouldn’t call you boring.”  
  
“I’m not sure I have an interesting life,” Jongin says, smiling faintly. “I wake up, go to work, come home, cook, eat, sleep. I’ll do that until I retire. Then I’ll be that old professor down the road, talking about the past all the time.”   
  
“You should have a garden,” Sehun says thoughtfully. He’s already constructing this image of Jongin in his head, an old man reading papers and listening to jazz and walking up and down the sleepy streets of Okinawa.  
  
“Maybe I will. I think I’d like that.”  
  
They buy groceries and walk back to the car. It’s started drizzling a bit. It’s getting dark outside.   
  
“Let’s drive for a bit,” Sehun says when they near the house.  
  
Jongin hides his surprise well -- Sehun doesn’t often ask for much, is too stubborn and self-sacrificing -- and continues on, taking the long way home.  
  
It’s almost black outside. The moon is out, and soft music warbles on the radio. Rain patters gently at their windows.  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with normalcy,” Sehun says after a while.   
  
“I never said there was.”  
  
“I think it seems boring. Taking care of children. Growing up, driving them around each day, saving up for them to go to school. By the time they grow up, you’re out of money and out of energy.”  
  
“Now who sounds like the old man,” Jongin jokes.  
  
“But it’s not really, is it? Like the wasp and the flower fig. To them, they’re just living their lives. But there’s a story there, and there’s a history and a match, it’s like this… ” Sehun trails off. He shrugs. “I like that.”  
  
They’re quiet for a while.  
  
Jongin says softly, “I like that too.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tiny moments, really. 


	10. Scenes From a Neighborhood

Monday.   
  
Yerin in Sehun’s arms, Jongin carrying two bags for lunch. Crossing the bridge, gazing out at the banana trees and goya plants beyond. Saying hi to the school girls who wait at the bus stop.    
  
It feels like home.     
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.   
  
Cleaning the house, Junmyeon’s coming over tomorrow.   
  
Jongin puts on Frank Sinatra and sings loudly while sweeping. Sehun’s half embarrassed for him because Jongin’s not the best at singing yet he gets emotionally invested in each song --   
  
But Sehun’s also half embarrassed for himself, because he’s so endeared by this crazy, crazy man.   
  
Thank God, Yerin starts whining, so Jongin relents and puts on baby shark instead.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.   
  
Junmyeon flies in from South Korea to spend a few days in town. He had to speak with a few researchers at OIST and found time to stop by.    
  
They go out for dinner, this traditional restaurant in the city. It’s -- nice.    
  
Yui’s taking care of Yerin and Junmyeon makes conversation flow smooth and easy. They enjoy Okinawa soba and dumplings and fried rice and seaweed.    
  
Then Jongin goes to the bathroom, and Junmyeon leans in with half a grin.    
  
“So,” Junmyeon starts, “I don't know what’s going on with you and my cousin, but it suits you.”   
  
Sehun blanches. “What.”   
  
“Last time I visited, his house was all bare and empty. Now there’s colored drawings all over the walls and toys everywhere and it’s lovely.”   
  
“We’re just -- ” Sehun protests.   
  
Junmyeon holds up his hands. “I know, I know. And I don’t want to meddle, but -- ”   
  
Jongin returns from the bathroom and Junmyeon moves the conversation along after winking at Sehun.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
Sehun feels guilty.    
  
Were it any other person -- any other person at all -- Sehun would be on his own two feet now. He subsisted nearly only on coffee during undergrad, and is pretty sure he’d be able to handle working at OIST as well as managing a baby and a part-time job.    
  
But.   
  
Deep down, Sehun knows that he’s only stayed this long because he likes Jongin. He could’ve gotten a job by now.    
  
Tonight, Jongin’s away, out at a meeting. NHK plays on the TV. Yerin babbles nonsensically as she smashes her dinosaurs and her toy dolls together. Sehun picks at his omelette rice, smearing ketchup across his egg.    
  
After a while, Sehun manages to finish most of his food. He puts the dirty dishes away. Washes them. Goes back to sit in front of the TV, but watches Yerin instead.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday, Sehun goes out to find a job.   
  
His hands feel heavy when he fills out the paperwork.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.   
  
The smell of fried food wakes Sehun.    
  
He pads into the kitchen blearily, yawning. Yerin’s playing in the open space next to the table, and Jongin’s at the stove.    
  
“What are you making?” Sehun asks.   
  
Jongin looks up. His gaze catches somewhere near Sehun’s waist and Sehun belatedly realizes that his shirt rides up when he stretches. Sehun crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously.    
  
Jongin looks down at the wok. “We’re going to Yui’s barbecue tomorrow. I thought it’d be nice to bring something.”   
  
“Tomorrow?” Sehun frowns.    
  
“Did you forget?” Jongin arches an eyebrow.   
  
“No,” Sehun says defensively.   
  
Jongin laughs good-naturedly, but it feels stilted.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday.   
  
Sometimes it’s easy to forget.    
  
Yui has a barbecue table in her backyard so they congregate there. Yuta puts music on the speakers and Jongin and Sehun bring Junmyeon and Yerin, much to everyone’s delight. They lose Yerin to Mina, then Junmyeon to Yui, but everyone’s still gathered in the yard, in the open air. Barbecue smoke mixes in with the summer breeze.    
  
They talk and laugh. Yuta mentions that it’s Mina’s birthday next week, and that they have to celebrate it. Junmyeon, on Yui’s insistence, tells them a bit about his research in halting Japanese. They all watch Yerin play.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.   
  
Sehun’s dropping off the baby in the morning, as he’s been doing for the past few weeks, when the woman at the counter notes, “Is Professor Kim alright? I haven’t seen him drop off Yerin in a while.”   
  
Sehun tries to hide his surprise and reassures her that all is fine.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.   
  
Sehun comes home late from the travel agency. He had to speak with the manager about working the late night shift.    
  
When he arrives home, the lights are turned off. He flicks on the single light in the kitchen and ducks his head into the single bedroom to see Jongin and Yerin dozing off on the futon.    
  
Jongin’s left him dinner on the stove. It’s already cold.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.   
  
“Morning,” Jongin says, when he emerges from the bedroom the next morning. Sehun’s folding his blanket up on the couch. “Sorry. I took the futon last night.”   
  
“It’s fine,” Sehun says.    
  
“I just -- didn’t know when you were coming home. And Yerin was falling asleep -- ”   
  
“I said it’s fine,” Sehun repeats.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.   
  
“Look,” Sehun says, turning on Jongin when they come home from work. “I know it isn’t easy living with a baby. But I told you from the beginning -- ”   
  
Jongin frowns. “What’s this? What brought this on?”   
  
Sehun plows on. “I told you from the beginning that it wouldn’t be easy, but I’m working to -- ”   
  
“You’re working again? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”   
  
Sehun puts down Yerin. “Avoiding you? You’ve been avoiding me.”   
  
“Because I thought you were upset over the meeting two weeks ago at work and you needed your space!”   
  
“I thought that you didn’t want to come home to -- ” Sehun breaks himself off. “Never mind,” he says curtly.   
  
Jongin’s expression falls. “You thought -- ”   
  
“It doesn’t matter what I thought.”   
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says, too softly, too intimately. He says Sehun’s name and it sounds so right that it’s terrifying.   
  
“Stop,” Sehun says, “Please don’t.”   
  
“Don’t what? I didn’t even say anything.”   
  
“I can’t deal with this right now,” Sehun rubs his eyes, “I’m exhausted, and if we have this conversation we’re going to fight. You know that.”   
  
“Fine,” Jongin says.   
  
“Fine,” Sehun says.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.   
  
Mina’s birthday. A mild bar by the airport, in the city. It’s dark, and the music is loud, and Sehun has had maybe one too many drinks.    
  
Jongin looks good -- too good -- dressed in a black button-up and black slacks just on this side of too tight, all black everything with his hair gelled back too.    
  
Sehun mostly talks to Yui and Yuta, but he’s at the bar when someone else approaches him.    
  
“Hi,” the girl says, when she slides into the seat next to Sehun.   
  
“Hi,” Sehun says. She’s got glitter on her eyelashes and flecks of what looks like margarita salt clinging onto her lipgloss. Sehun blinks.    
  
The girl’s about to say something else when a heavy arm is thrown around Sehun’s shoulders.   
  
“Hi,” Jongin says to the girl. He’s plopped himself in the seat on the other side of Sehun, and all but leans across Sehun’s lap to smile at the girl.    
  
She looks a bit confused but smiles back, and then pretty soon Jongin and her strike up a conversation that Sehun doesn’t bother to follow. There are foreigners mixed in with the Japanese, which makes sense -- they’re in Naha, in the middle of an international city -- but it makes for a melange of languages in the background.    
  
Sehun must’ve missed something because the girl laughs prettily and then gets up to leave. Jongin waves for another round of drinks.    
  
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” Jongin says quietly. It’s hard to hear in the crowded area; Jongin has to lean in to be heard.   
  
“What do you mean,” Sehun slurs. “‘M not trying to do anything.”   
  
Jongin spins Sehun’s stool around so that Sehun faces him.    
  
“Are you serious?”   
  
“Leave it, Jongin,” Sehun says. He gets up to move but someone moves in, hollering for a drink and Sehun accidentally steps in between Jongin’s legs, almost slips, but then Jongin grabs him by the waist to steady him.   
  
And this is a mistake if Sehun’s ever made one, because the insides of Jongin’s knees are brushing Sehun’s thighs, Jongin’s left hand is clasping the back of Sehun’s knee and the other is clutching his waist; Sehun’s thin shirt has ridden up and Sehun  _ shudders _ \--   
  
“Are you sure you want to leave it,” Jongin asks, gravelly. His eyes are dark.   
  
This is something else entirely, this is not the professor who spends his time perfecting work and wiping down sinks and fixing his glasses, this is Jongin with his nice clothes on and hair gelled back and Sehun can’t really handle it right now.   
  
“Yes,” Sehun says. He jerks out of Jongin’s grip and leaves.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday morning.   
  
The baby’s still with babysitter. Equip with a glass of water and advil, Sehun walks into the bedroom, where Jongin’s waiting.   
  
“You seriously don’t remember?”    
  
Jongin scrunches his nose when he sees the water. “No,” he says, and takes the water and medicine reluctantly. His hair’s splayed all over his forehead, sticking up in the back. There’s imprint from the pillow on his cheek and his eyes are tired.    
  
In a tremendous display of self-constraint, Sehun resolutely does not run his fingers through Jongin’s messy hair.    
  
“For a professor, you really drink a lot.”   
  
“Hm.” Jongin hands back the empty glass. “Are you okay?”   
  
“I’m fine. I helped you throw up in the bathroom and then we took the train home.”   
  
“Oh God,” Jongin says, “I hope we didn’t see anyone we knew.”   
  
“Jongin,” Sehun starts. He pauses. He looks down at the empty glass.    
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says with a half smile. He’s teasing.    
  
Sehun puts the glass onto the floor next to the futon. He drags the blanket up to Jongin’s chin.    
  
“Say it,” Jongin says.   
  
“Say what?”   
  
“Whatever you wanted to say.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Jongin shrugs. “Just now. You looked like you wanted to say something.”   
  
Sehun looks at Jongin. Drags his gaze down the gentle slope of Jongin’s cheek; watches, fascinated, at the way the sunlight caresses Jongin’s skin.    
  
Finally, Sehun says, “Your hair is messy.”   
  
Jongin replies simply, “Then fix it for me.”   
  
Jongin’s hair is softer than it looks, and he tilts his head into Sehun’s palm endearingly.   
  
“I have to pick up the baby,” Sehun says quietly. “You should get some sleep.” He wants Jongin to ask him to stay.   
  
Jongin just touches his wrist gently before slipping back into sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday.   
  
Sehun goes to bed on the futon with Yerin.   
  
Jongin sleeps on the couch.   
  
Some time ago, he told Jongin that he likes the time right before he falls asleep. It’s his time to decompress, to wind down before the next day. It’s his time to think.   
  
Right now, it just feels dangerous.    
  
Sehun can’t sleep for a while.


	11. Scenes From a Love Story

It’s not much, what they have.    
  
Just a home, in the suburbs. Just a baby girl. Just a single bedroom home and a functioning car that waits in the driveway. Just homemade kimchi and packages of instant curry in their kitchen.   
  
It’s not much, their story. Just two people meeting. Commonplace, really.    
  
Here it is, anyway.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.   
  
The baby’s crying again.   
  
“Shush,” Sehun murmurs, bouncing the baby in his lap gently. “Shush, shush.”   
  
The baby won’t stop crying.    
  
Rain begins to splatter down around the overhang of the bus stop. Cars trudge by, windshield wipers swiping aggressively.    
  
“Here,” Jongin says gently. It’s like they’re treading on eggshells. He pulls out a pacifier from his bag. “Let me.”   
  
Sehun hands over the baby.    
  
“Hi there,” Jongin murmurs. Yerin takes the pacifier and coos happily, her chubby fists grabbing chunks of Jongin’s hair. “I can take her today. You go ahead.”   
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“Go on.”   
  
Bus 30 pulls up and Sehun leans over to give the baby a kiss before he goes.    
  
Jongin smiles and waves, as if they won’t see each other later that day.   
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.   
  
A student in the next department over has just presented her thesis, which means they have leftovers from the celebration. There’s chicken skewer and dumplings and fried noodles. Sehun comes about halfway through lunchtime, still wearing a nitrile glove on his right hand and the imprint of goggles still on his cheeks.   
  
“Sehun,” one of the interns calls out, “Come eat!”   
  
“I can only be here for a little bit,” Sehun says apologetically, holding up his gloved hand, “I have a lab to get back to.”   
  
“He can’t be convinced to take a break,” Mina says, scooting past Sehun to grab extra napkins, “This one and Jongin -- they’re the worst. Working all the time.” She shake her head good-naturedly.    
  
Sehun laughs and then heads into the small storage room to look for a timer. He’s rummaging through a box of miscellaneous items with his free hand when Jongin sticks his head in.    
  
“Not hungry?” he asks. He has a plate of chicken skewers and noodles.   
  
“I have a solution waiting for me,” Sehun says, standing on his tiptoes to peer into the box.    
  
“Try a piece,” Jongin says.   
  
I should tell him, Sehun thinks. I should say something.    
  
When Sehun’s still stuck thinking, Jongin steps forward and makes a decision for him.    
  
“Here,” Jongin says quietly. He’s picking up a bundle of noodles with his chopsticks, and before Sehun can think better of it, he lets Jongin feed him a bite.   
  
“Good?” Jongin asks.    
  
It’s not the first time Jongin’s fed Sehun. But this time, they’re in this cramped room, and Jongin’s eyes are dark, and Sehun can vividly remember the way that Jongin’s hand felt on his legs, on his waist when they were drinking last week.   
  
Sehun swallows. “Yeah,” Sehun says.    
  
“Try some chicken,” Jongin says.   
  
“What will you eat?”   
  
“There’s more in the room. Go on.” Jongin holds up a skewer.    
  
Sehun frowns a bit, but then Jongin brings the delicious meat close, and Sehun has to put a hand on Jongin’s wrist to bring the skewer closer and bite.    
  
Sehun ends up returning to the lab late, but he finishes off two more skewers and the rest of Jongin’s noodles.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday.    
  
There’s a week-long conference in the city -- not really related to their field, it’s about energy conservation -- but Jongin lets them go anyway, sort of as a break from the monotony of work.    
  
They take the bus out -- Jongin, Sehun, Yuta, Yui, Mina, and their intern -- early in the morning. Everyone swipes their IC card as they load onto the bus, with Jongin leading the way. When Sehun, the last one in line, finishes swiping, he heads to the back only to see that everyone’s paired up already, leaving an empty spot next to Jongin.    
  
“Hi,” Sehun says, taking a seat next to him.   
  
“Hi,” Jongin says, smiling faintly. “Are you okay? You look worried.”   
  
“Did we lock the door?” Sehun asks. “I can’t remember, because we had to go back and get Yerin’s jacket -- ”   
  
“It’s fine,” Jongin says, leaning back and patting Sehun’s leg gently. “You worry too much.”   
  
“You worry too little.”   
  
“Because you do all the worrying for me.”   
  
Sehun snorts before he can think better of it. “How did you live without me,” Sehun says, mostly joking.   
  
Jongin just grins.    
  
They talk for a little bit more, then Jongin goes, “You should sleep. It’s a long ride, and I’ll wake you up before we get there. You barely slept yesterday.”   
  
“I’ll be okay,” Sehun says, right before he starts dozing off. He wakes only when Jongin shakes his shoulder gently.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.    
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says. They’re in the kitchen, making dinner. It’s just a Thursday. A normal Thursday -- they’d gone to work, come back. Yerin’s napping on the couch, and the TV’s turned off. Sehun looks up.    
  
Jongin’s stirring a pot of curry. The steam’s coming off, rolling in gentle clouds, puffing up his hair. He’s paused, mid-stir, to look at Sehun. “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”   
  
Sehun doles out a spoonful of rice into each bowl carefully. “What do you mean?”   
  
“If -- if there was something on your mind.”   
  
I should tell him, Sehun thinks. I should say something.   
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says. “I would.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday night.    
  
After dinner. Empty beer cans on the table, dishes drying in the dishwasher. Yerin sleeping in the bedroom, full and satiated.    
  
“Will you go on a walk with me?” Jongin asks.   
  
Outside is dark. A few children are walking home from the park. It’s nice, summer warm and sticky humid. Cicadas buzz noisily and the smell of ripe jasmine flowers clings to the air.    
  
“Should I say it, or should you?” Sehun asks.    
  
Jongin peers at him. “Are we thinking of the same thing?”   
  
Sehun stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know.”   
  
“Do you want me to say it?”   
  
Sehun takes his hands out of his pockets. He halts, in the middle of the road. Around them are high storied houses. A stray cat meows as it wanders by.   
  
Jongin’s phone rings, sudden and sharp.    
  
Sehun exhales in relief. “Later,” he says.    
  
Jongin looks unsatisfied, but picks up the phone.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.   
  
Sehun comes home late from work. There’s a pot of army stew on the stove, which he has with noodles and some leftover kimchi. By the time Sehun’s ready for bed, it’s already past midnight.    
  
Jongin’s on the futon, curled around Yerin. Sehun kneels on the soft mattress to see if Yerin’s diaper needs to be changed. After the inspection has been passed, Sehun moves to get up and sleep on the couch.   
  
“I can move,” Jongin murmurs sleepily.    
  
Sehun startles. He hadn’t known that Jongin was awake. “It’s fine,” Sehun whispers, “I was just checking Yerin.”   
  
“Stay,” Jongin says.    
  
“I can’t,” Sehun says.   
  
“Why not?” Jongin murmurs.    
  
Sehun, unable to resist, runs a hand through Jongin’s hair. “Go back to sleep,” he says softly, and leaves the room as quietly as he can.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday.   
  
They’re eating their dinner of carbonara noodles with pork belly.    
  
“Can you pass the kimchi?” Sehun asks.    
  
Jongin puts down his chopsticks. “Is it too much?” he asks abruptly.   
  
Sehun frowns. “Too much?”   
  
“I just mean -- like last night, and the times before that. I feel sometimes that it’s too -- ”   
  
Sehun, bewildered, repeats, “Too much?”   
  
Jongin makes a noise of frustration. “You know -- ”   
  
“I really don’t, Jongin, I don’t -- ”   
  
“You don’t know,” Jongin says flatly. “What were you talking about two nights ago? When we went for our walk?”   
  
“What was I -- what were you talking about?”   
  
Jongin looks shocked. “I was going to ask if you were uncomfortable.”   
  
“Uncomfortable?”   
  
“Living with me.” Jongin shifts a bit. “I mean, I try not to act on it too much, but you must know -- ”   
  
Sehun tries not to choke on his slice of pork belly.    
  
Jongin’s frown deepens. “What were you going to say?”   
  
“I was going to ask you if you wanted me to move out -- because.” Sehun clears his throat. “That is, I started working again because I thought you wouldn’t want to live with someone who wasn’t -- ”   
  
“That’s why?” Jongin interrupts.    
  
“Jongin,” Sehun says, feeling very, very stupid.   
  
“Are you about to cry?” Jongin peers at him. “God, we’re idiots, aren’t we? I thought -- ”   
  
Sehun leans over and kisses Jongin.    
  
“Oh,” Jongin says, blinking, when they pull away a second later.    
  
“Sorry,” Sehun says, rushed, “I should’ve -- ”   
  
The words are lost when Jongin leans in again.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Monday.    
  
“We’re going to be late!” is how Sehun wakes up: Jongin’s shaking him away, their legs tangling together on the futon. Yerin’s playing with Sehun’s hair, half on the pillow, grinning mischievously.    
  
They all but jog out of the house to the car. Sehun’s holding the baby and her bag of things, Jongin’s juggling the keys and their coats and their lunches.    
  
In the car, Yerin giggles in the backseat, pointing at trucks and vans that drive by.    
  
“Is this okay?” Sehun asks suddenly. He twists his seatbelt in his fingers.   
  
Jongin holds his hand over the center console. Sehun takes it. Their fingers intertwine easily, effortlessly.    
  
Jongin squeezes tight. “More than okay.”   
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday.   
  
“I want to help pay for mortgage,” Sehun demands, when they’re washing dishes after dinner.   
  
“I own the house.”   
  
“Then I want to pay for the utility bills. Or something.”   
  
Jongin hands Sehun a plate to rinse. “You’ve thought about this a lot?”   
  
Sehun flushes. “It won’t be easy, moving in together.”   
  
“Do we not already live together?”   
  
“But now it’s different,” Sehun protests, “And I don’t want to feel like I’m depending on you.”   
  
Jongin brushes a soapy thumb over the back of Sehun’s hand. “I know,” Jongin says solemnly.    
  
“What will the other students think?” Sehun says, looking down at the sudsy water.    
  
“Hey,” Jongin says. He wipes his hands on his jeans and touches a thumb to Sehun’s chin, tilting his face up. “If you’re worried about it, you shouldn’t be. Most of them already suspect something’s going on, and it’s fine if there is. There won’t be a problem.”   
  
“Sorry,” Sehun says quietly, “I don’t want you to think I’m second-guessing myself. I’m just -- ”   
  
“Nervous?”   
  
“Worried. Which is good, I think.” Sehun smiles faintly. “It means that I care.”   
  
“We’ll work things out,” Jongin says. “How hard can it be?”   
  
Sehun resists the urge to roll his eyes, and lets Jongin step in close to kiss him.    
  
Jongin tastes like the vanilla mochi they had for dessert. His mouth opens up, warm and familiar. Like home.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wednesday afternoon.    
  
Sehun’s dozing off in the bedroom, the door halfway ajar, when he hears it.    
  
“Bah, bah, bah,” Yerin babbles when Jongin and her return from the grocery store. Sehun had opted to stay home and sleep.    
  
“Let’s be quiet,” Jongin shushes her, his voice wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen. “Your dad is sleeping, okay?”   
  
Yerin gurgles.   
  
Sounds of shuffling -- plastic bags rustling and the refrigerator door opening and closing -- indicate that Jongin’s putting away the groceries and preparing for dinner.    
  
“He’s pretty tired,” Jongin continues, as the stove starts up and a pan begins sizzling. “But he’ll play with you this weekend, hm?”   
  
Sehun’s flitting in and out of sleep, but he manages to hear Jongin say, “Yah, Yerin. Don’t throw the toys. That’ll destroy the house. I want to live here for a long time, don’t you know? We’ll live here together.” The microwave beeps, and Jongin continues, softer, “We’ll grow a garden, alright? And you can help us pick out the weeds.” There’s a soft smack as Jongin presumably kisses Yerin’s cheek. “And we’ll grow old together.”   
  
Sehun doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s really not much. Not a big change, a big leap. Just all the motions of ordinary love.    
  
There are many moments, tiny dots on an endless timeline. Moments that they share, they create. Only Sehun’s and Jongin’s.They argue and they get angry and they get tired and they fight.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thursday.   
  
“Why can’t you let me have this?” Sehun demands.    
  
“I don’t see why you need it!” Jongin retorts. They’re in the car, on the way to pick up Yerin. “I can support both of us -- ”   
  
“It’s not about that,” Sehun snaps. “It’s about me making it so that I can live with myself!”   
  
“But when you do this, you overwork yourself,” Jongin says. He brakes harshly at a red light. “And you come home tired, and you can’t take care of the baby -- ”   
  
“What does that mean?” Sehun says coldly.   
  
“I just mean you should take care of yourself,” Jongin says, lowering his voice. “And that your pride isn’t worth this.”   
  
“I don’t see any other options,” Sehun says. They get to the daycare center and Sehun slams the door behind him.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
But they live together, grow old together.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Friday.    
  
They take a day off to go into the city.    
  
Yerin’s dressed in her pretty blue dress and her feet kick excitedly in her stroller. Jongin takes them out for sushi and he and Sehun debate a bit over the sustainability of the fish market, before deciding to compromise and get ice cream instead.    
  
Jongin buys them Okinawan yam-flavored ice cream. The ice cream curls into perfect swirls, soft and melty under Sehun’s tongue. Jongin licks the excess off of the corners of Sehun’s mouth.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Saturday.   
  
Sehun wakes to this:   
  
Sunlight drenching their bedroom. Jongin and Yerin curled up on the futon. Everything soft, slow, dripping with white light. They have a breakfast of melon pan and milk before crawling back into bed. Their legs tangle in the sheets. Everything is slow. Soft.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday.   
  
Yerin bouncing to baby shark. Jongin laughing uncontrollably, recording a video on his smartphone. The smell of udon drifting through the kitchen. Sehun’s papers on the desk as he idly works. Domestic.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
And later:   
  
Yerin’s first step. Their first vacation as a family. Their first joint tax filing.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
And much, much later:   
  
Yerin’s first day of school. Sehun defending his thesis. Jongin remodelling the house to put a garden in.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ordinary love.    
  
Their ordinary love.    
  
  
  
  



End file.
